False Face
by dozefallsdownthestairs
Summary: Arthur Kirkland feels that fate must be set against him when he falls for handsome culinary student Alfred Jones. Arthur doesn't eat because he's not hungry. It's not complicated. Little does he realize, amongst the pink frosting and mashed potatoes, that it's never been about the food. AU USUK anorexic!Arthur and chef!Alfred
1. Nothing Wrong With My Name 1

**Hello all! Here's an idea borne out of trouble.**

**The title of the story comes from a quote in Macbeth which goes, "_False face must hide what the false heart doth know." _**

**WARNING: I hesitated to post this, because I realize it's a sensitive issue. However, having recently gone through the whole shit shebang of actually having an eating disorder, this is extremely therapeutic for me. It's as realistic as I can put it. The first chapter just sets up a basis for the story, but it goes deeper from there. Ultimately, I don't mean to offend anyone. I'm not making light of an issue. I've gone through this personally and sort of writing it all down in goofy weeb fashion in the context of my favorite gay countries has helped me figure it out. **

**I hope you enjoy the story. And that if you know anybody who has an eating disorder or if you have had an eating disorder this will encourage you, because in the end it'll get better. :)**

**For the record, Arthur has anorexia. He's somewhat aware of it, but doesn't want to spend much time thinking of it. Alfred is also the biggest dorkface in history.**

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><p>Arthur shifts his bookbag up a little higher on his shoulder, shivering in the cool November air. His French history class troops before him in a curving line as they make their way across the campus. The Seattle drizzle assaults them for not being so green as their surroundings. Arthur thinks it's hardly fair. Anything as lively green as the foliage around here is too brilliant to be natural.<p>

Francis, the only Frenchman in their class, complains loudly over the state of his hair. "If I had known we would be going out I would have brought an umbrella." He declares, agonized.

Arthur doesn't hesitate to tell him to shut up. "And why did you even take this class? You're French for crying out loud."

Francis just smiles froggily and replies with a, "It's the best subject the school had to offer."

Arthur trails into incoherent grumblings, determined to ignore him for the rest of the class. If he had his way, he would have dropped out ages ago. As it so happened with his major in World History, this is one of the required courses. He wonders why. It's not like Joan of Arc has ever done him any good.

He's in a particularly bad mood right now, anyway. The class before him is bubbling with excitement, but his stomach is in knots. The teacher announced last week that they would be venturing into the culinary part of the course, since French cuisine is world-renowned and blah, blah, blah. Arthur personally believes any society that reduces itself to eating snails is far below him.

Their professor set up a visit to the adjoining culinary school across the street for some taste testing. It was meant to be a fun, easy A assignment. Arthur was the only one who raised his hand to ask if it was mandatory. Francis had proceeded to ask if he had any fun bones in his body. If their professor hadn't been watching Arthur would have punched him then and there. He didn't take shit from guys like Francis. He was actually in university to learn.

Now, here he is trooping through drizzle, head hanging dismally. Mandatory is such an awful word.

"Arthur, aren't you excited," Shelly chirps, falling into step beside him. "No essays, no thinking, just food!" She giggles brightly, nudging him in the shoulder. "I'm sure it won't taste that bad, you worrywart."

He sniffs, offended. "I like essays and thinking. That's why I came to college."

She rolls her eyes. "We all know you're going to be valedictorian, Art. Take a load off every once in awhile. This is an easy A. Enjoy it. They don't come often." Arthur notices her anxiously clutch a copy of Freud to her chest. She's been carrying that around with her everywhere, must have an exam soon.

"Hey," He says, waving towards her book. "After we try a few things, I can help you study."

Her brow furrows and she laughs guiltily. "I probably shouldn't have even brought it along. I wasn't planning on studying."

"It's no trouble," he insists. Anything to get him out of eating French cuisine.

"Arthur..." She gives him a brilliant smile. Her brown fringe flutters prettily over her chocolate eyes. "You're so sweet."

He shrugs. "I don't mind giving help to beautiful girls."

She blushes, shoving her shoulder into his. "Stop it. You're a giant tease, Arthur Kirkland. And you know it."

Arthur delivers her a toothy smile, shrugging again. They've been friends since first year. She should be used to his gentlemanly antics by now.

"Anyway," She continues on, returning his smile playfully. "I know you'd much rather give help to a beautiful boy."

His mouth drops and he scowls as she eludes him by ducking into the culinary arts building. "Shelly!" He groans, pushing after her only to find her lost in a flood of cooking students. If he's the tease, she's definitely something much worse.

"Alright, attention class!" Their professor calls his small group to order. "The chefs here at the institute have already prepared some dishes for us to try. We'll be doing this buffet style, so I guess... ah..."

He turns to a cooking student standing beside him for direction. "Follow me," the boy says, laughing. His wheat gold hair glimmers in the grayish light spilling from the foyer, brilliant blue eyes sparkling excitably. "We're so excited to share some of our food," he continues gleefully as he leads the way. "It's such a privilege to cook for anyone really! Our teacher just showed us some of this coolio French stuff, and I'm super excited for you guys to try it! I want comments and everything! It was my first time acting as head chef! Everyone else were my pretend sous chefs. It was a ton of fun." He practically skips as he talks. His white chef's shirt is stained with flour and brown powder and miscellaneous spills. Arthur thinks he seems like the type to get very messy in the kitchen.

He sends a glance back over his shoulder, spotting Shelly in the back. She is way too good at losing him. He wants to get out of the front, but the crowd behind him is sweeping him forward. He has no choice but to trot along at the heels of his professor and the bubbly cooking student.

"We're almost there," the boy laughs again, sending a bright smile at the professor. "It's a bit of a wonky hallway. Oh, I'm Alfred, by the way." He pauses, then grins. "Chef Alfred, if you will."

The professor smiles warmly back. "So how long have you been attending culinary school?"

"Two years," Alfred nods happily. "This is my final year."

"And what are you planning to do?"

"Oh... I don't know!" Alfred shakes his head with a guilty smile. "Cook, I guess."

Arthur nearly rolls his eyes. What preparation.

"Well, the students and I are so enthusiastic to be here. I've had food from this school before at the open house. It's just as good as any restaurant I've been to."

"Wow, thanks!" Alfred beams. "Everybody works hard, and we just really like cooking. So I'm glad it shows. Here we are!" He waves brightly to a large banquet hall. Several long tables fill the room laden with exquisitely designed plates ready for the taking. The food is like artwork drifting beautifully across the each white orb in pastel colors.

Alfred waits till everybody has entered the room, before waving happily for them to begin.

Arthur falls to the side, crossing his arms over his stomach as he waits for Shelly to come around. His lip curls when he sees she is talking to Francis and remembers bitterly that she's friends with the frog as well. They're both expounding excitably about dishes from Francis' homeland. It isn't long before they both slip into French, and Arthur can't understand what they're saying. He feels abruptly abandoned.

He stands as close behind them as he can, keeping his head down and avoiding the eyes of the chefs who stand behind the tables of food. His eyes slide over the plates. Even he has to admit they look striking, like the plate is the canvas and the food is the paint. He tries his best not to meet any chef's gaze as he passes each collection of plates. His stomach is rolling.

They reach the end of the line and he begins to believe he's made it. Francis and Shelly in front of him are balancing their plates haphazardly as they search for an open table. They spot one to the side and start to head that way. Arthur follows.

"Hey, didn't you want anything?"

Arthur flinches, mentally spewing a sailor's chant of cusswords. He turns on his heel to see Alfred, head chef, looking at him with puppy dog eyes. "I..." Arthur swallows, using his fallback excuse. "I'm not hungry."

"Oh." Alfred wilts a little. "Well... maybe... Maybe you could just try it. Just to tell me if it's any good." He offers a hopeful smile that Arthur wants to curse to hell and back. He looks so damned expectant, like the world depends on it or something.

"You could just take a bite." His big blue eyes grow a little bit bigger. Shelly's comment from earlier enters Arthur's mind, and he blushes a bit.

Alfred stumbles clumsily over to the table, picking up one of the dishes. "This one's my favorite." He holds it out. "Please just try it."

Arthur glares at the offending pasta dish, shifting from foot to foot. The chef would pick the heaviest food in the place. Unfortunately, his eyes flick back up to Alfred's and he's unsuspectingly lambasted by _the_ puppy dog look of puppy dog looks.

"Alright," he snips, grabbing hold of it. He starts to turn away, but Alfred holds up a fork, eyebrows raised.

"You sure are good at forcing people to eat your food," Arthur mutters, snatching it.

"It's how I got where I am," Alfred shoots back with a victorious grin. "Come on, you act like I'm a bad cook. I made it this far." He gestures himself down, smile softening. He really is handsome. The gray light that sparkles through the windows falls about his tanned face pleasantly. He has blue, blue eyes the color of coastal oceans. When he smiles, his teeth are straight and white. It's only a soft splash of freckles across his nose that give him a more All American baseball look instead of California angel.

Arthur can feel a blush crawling into his cheeks the longer he stares. He gives a noncommital grunt and walks away with his head down, already coming up with a way to dispose of the food before Alfred notices. He takes a seat next to Shelly who greets him with her mouth full.

"Hey," she swallows, "You actually got something to eat. Beginning to change your mind about French food, eh?"

Arthur scowls. "Please. I'm just being polite."

"Sure you are, Eyebrows," Francis smirks and Arthur clenches his fists.

The conversation carries on nonetheless. As the others slowly work their way through plate after plate, Arthur nonchalantly slides his own into the mix. He feels undeniable relief when another one of his classmates mistakes it for their own and starts to eat it. The knot in his stomach loosens a little bit. Now, that he's more relaxed his gaze flickers furtively back to Alfred.

The dweeb is standing near the window with a plate of his own food, surrounded by a small army of student chefs in white. Arthur can hear what he's saying only occasionally over the din. He appears to be giving them a pep talk, waving his fork goofily in the air. He sticks it in his mouth to pat someone on the back. The other chefs all seem to like him or at least tolerate him. A small Japanese man flanks him quietly and by the way Alfred talks to him, Arthur can guess this is his right hand man in regard to these things.

He has the odd desire that he wants to go to talk to Alfred again. He can't imagine about what, but it's there. It isn't just because the man's attractive. He has a manner about him that draws people. Arthur watches in dismay as several of his classmates start to join in with Alfred's conversation. They're the prettier girls and the more handsome boys, dressed in the latest styles, hair all in perfect place. They know exactly what to say and Alfred banters with them easily, smiling freely.

He can't help but look down at himself and fiddle with his sweater vest. He's only concerned with looking proper and well-dressed. Arthur has always wanted to come across professional. But... Insecurity bubbles up in his stomach, and he wishes he could excuse himself.

"Arthur?"

He glances at Shelly, who's smiling teasingly and obviously can't sense his mood. "You want to go over and thank the cute chef for his food? It was so good! I can't even believe it! Don't you think so!"

Arthur nods, "Yeah, it was excellent. Shelly, I think I'm going to-"

"Well, you can't leave yet, Arthur," She insists. "Come on. Let's go thank him and then you can help me study, alright?"

Arthur swallows, but he doesn't get much chance to protest before she's dragging him to his feet and straight into the group.

"Alfred," she says, claiming his attention easily. She's a very pretty girl. She could get anybody's attention.

"What's up?" Alfred grins. "Do you have an opinion on salty versus sweet? The battle of the ages?"

Some of the other chefs roll their eyes, but most laugh. Arthur's classmates laugh, too. Shelly smiles. "Arthur and I just wanted to thank you, well, all of you for the great food. You're all going to have to contact me about where you're working, cuz it's a place I want to eat."

There is general laughter again. Arthur turns to sidle out, but a wall of people has formed behind him.

"Arthur?"

He turns back and then blushes when he realizes it's Alfred that has said his name. "Is that your name?" Alfred asks, smiling. "So you've got an oldies name like me, huh? I'm not the only one."

Everyone is listening to their conversation, because everybody listens to Alfred. Arthur balls his hands into fists, face going redder. "Th-there's nothing wrong with my name, imbecile."

"Oh!" Alfred's eyes widen. "No, that's not what I meant. I like it. I was just... comparing them?" Alfred blushes a bit, and Arthur hears a couple whispers spoken against himself. People are angry at him for insulting Alfred.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Whatever. If you think we're the only ones with old names in here, then you should ask around more. I thought you were a socialite. Francis is an old name."

Alfred looks sideways at Francis who he has already met by this point. He looks back at Arthur shaking his head. "No. Francis is a girl's name."

A couple of the guys whoop and someone calls out, "Shots fired!" Francis begins to mutter about how uncouth they all are, though he doesn't seem angry.

Alfred offers Arthur a devilish grin. "At least we have boy names."

Arthur nearly smiles at him. An insult to Francis is like a compliment to Arthur any day. But he forces it back and snaps sarcastically. "Oh at least that."

Alfred doesn't get insulted, though. He laughs. The others shift uncomfortably at Arthur's volatile attitude. Shelly just looks embarrassed. "You're something," he says once he stops laughing. "Look, we'll have to hang out some time." He pulls out a scrap of paper and pushing through people bends to use one of the tables so he can write on it.

"There." Alfred holds the paper proudly out to Arthur. In front of everybody.

Arthur can feel the heat burning the back of his neck.

He can't bring himself to reject it, because... A boy as cute as Alfred is actually giving him a number. But at the same time, his stubborn pride makes him feel that he can't accept it.

"Oh please," Shelly bursts out and snatches the number from Alfred's fingers suddenly. "Give it to a beautiful girl won't you?"

The guys start to caterwaul again. Though the attention is off of him, Arthur feels an overwhelming sense of disappointment. The professor informs them that they are free to leave- read need to leave now. Arthur starts to walk out, adjusting his bookbag, but before he does Alfred catches him at the corner and pulls him back.

"What are you-"

"Here." Alfred presses a piece of paper into his palm. "That wasn't some kind of joke." He pulls back then to inspect Arthur, who tries his best to remain unruffled. "Anyway," Alfred suddenly smiles. "You need to try my food sometime, right?"

An overwhelming nausea hits Arthur like a ton of bricks and he stumbles.

"Arthur?" Alfred catches him by the shoulders. His tone cracks in worry. "Arthur, are you alright?"

"I'm..." Arthur swallows, feeling his dry throat and coughing. "I'm f-"

"Kiku can you get Arthur a water bottle?" Alfred calls back to someone behind him. "Hey, why don't you sit down for a minute? You don't look alright."

Arthur doesn't protest as Alfred leads him over to a table and forces him into a chair. He lays his cheek down on the table cloth, waiting for the nausea to fade like it always does. He feels Alfred pat him on the back.

"You alright?"

Embarrassment floods through him, but he doesn't move. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Suddenly, Alfred's clear blue eyes are at his eye level, blinking their concern. Arthur turns his head the other direction, blushing.

"Fine. I said I'm fine."

"Okay." Alfred pats his back again. "Don't get up until you feel better."

Alfred continues to pat his back, and Arthur thinks wryly that maybe he'll never feel better. Kiku returns with a water bottle, though. Arthur swallows roughly. He doesn't really feel like drinking. Instead, he says, "I'm fine. I think I'll go." He starts to stand up, but he can feel Alfred and Kiku looking at him skeptically.

"I'm fine." He says forcibly, letting his irritation come into his voice. "Just stayed out late last night. I need a nap." His green eyes flick up nervously to meet theirs, wondering if they'll catch him lying.

"You should get some sleep, then." Kiku says quietly. Alfred says nothing.

"Yes, well, that's what I was on my way to do." Arthur coughs again, taking the water bottle with him to make them feel better. He gets to the door.

"Bye Arthur."

He looks back to see Alfred waving.

"Bye." He whispers, blushing again.


	2. I Think I'm Stuck 2

**Hey guys! Thanks so much for all the support so far! It's neat that so many people are interested in this, at least more than I expected, haha. Once again, this chapter is pretty docile. I'll warn you if it's going to be graphic as it might be later on. Right now, we get to establish the wonderfully ironic relationship that Artie and Alfie develop. :)**

**I usually update weekly, but that's not a promise. Haha. This story is set on a Friday night cycle.**

**Finally, here are some character names.**

**Basilio= Roman Empire. Jett= Australia. Mathias= Denmark. and in case you didn't understand this... Shelly= Seychelles.**

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><p>Arthur sits cross-legged on his dorm bed. His roommate has gone to get something for dinner, so he's alone. A plethora of books on different subjects is spread out around him for his perusal. His unusual devotion to studies has gotten him ahead of the syllabus and now he has some free time to read whatever he wants.<p>

Usually, he enjoys the time where he can fill his mind with whatever comes to his fancy. The library is vast and full of new stories. He enjoys fiction when he has the time for it. But today, he holds the crumpled piece of paper given him by Alfred, staring with some intensity at the ten numbers and sloppy smiley face.

"CALL ME." is written in all caps. Though Arthur isn't completely sure, he guesses that Alfred means it in more than a 'let's hang out and be friends way'. He enjoys the fluttery feeling in his stomach as he considers it.

Imagine someone like Alfred going out with him. Arthur isn't ashamed of being gay by any means, but it's near impossible to imagine himself with Alfred. Despite his pact in secondary to get out more, he hasn't changed much in university. He has his friends and they do things together occasionally. His home base remains the library on Friday and Saturday nights.

It's just sort of who he is.

He pulls his mobile from his pocket, feeling his hesitation weigh on him like a boulder. What is he even supposed to say to Alfred?

"Hi, this is Arthur... The French history student who refused to eat your food the other day and potentially offended you beyond reconciliation? Oh you don't remember giving this number? Sorry, I'll..."

Arthur groans. It's a bad idea, anyhow. A would-be chef like Alfred is bound to be making disgusting, calorie-ridden food all the time. Wouldn't it be kind of an affront for the person Alfred's seeing to never eat it?

Nonetheless, Arthur gathers his courage and dials the number. It's Alfred who told him to call, so Alfred can be the one to do all the talking. He shouldn't have to stress over something like this.

The phone rings and rings. Arthur thinks angrily that the imbecile isn't even going to pick up. What a twat. But on the final ring before the message tone, there's a click. Arthur hears the sound of what must be a very crowded, loud room.

"Hello?" Alfred is practically shouting. "Who is this?"

Arthur scowls, "Who do you think it is?"

"Arthur?" Alfred's tone lifts. "Oh hey, you called me back! Hold on. I'm going to find a less noisy place."

The background noise fades. Arthur hears Alfred telling people that he'll be back in a minute.

"If it's a bad time, I can-" Arthur starts.

Alfred interrupts him with a laugh. "No, it's just dinner time. I was eating out with some friends. To be honest, it was getting a little too crazy in there." He laughs again, somehow managing to convey warmth over the phone lines. Arthur thinks that if this chef thing falls through for him, he'd make a good customer service clerk.

"So..." Alfred prompts after some silence. "You want to meet up some time?"

"If that's what you want," Arthur says indifferently. "You were the one who told me to call you."

"Yes, but _you _called." Alfred chuckles. "Actually... are you busy right now? We just got here. They're ordering their food. Think you could come down and join us?"

Arthur's stomach clenches. "I already ate."

"Oh." He hears Alfred's disappointment and hates how it makes him feel. "Okay, then, some other time. I'll have to introduce you to my friends. That night will be _so _fun." Alfred laughs and Arthur wonders what kind of person Alfred thinks he is. He's not exactly the life of the party.

"Anyway," Alfred continues. "Think you could meet with me tomorrow? Maybe around six? We could go out to eat, loiter in the woods, that sort of thing."

Arthur swallows. Why does everything have to be about going out to eat? "No, I can't. I have a class."

"On Sunday?" Alfred asks incredulously.

"It was the only time it was offered," Arthur shoots back without missing a beat.

"Okay... what about lunch?"

"Meeting with a professor."

"Breakfast, then?"

"Study group usually goes out for pancakes."

"Damn," Alfred laughs. "How about three in the afternoon?"

Arthur hesitates. There aren't any meals associated with three in the afternoon, are there?

"How about 3:13 in the afternoon?" Alfred presses. "You can't have anything scheduled for such a random time."  
>Arthur shakes his head, allowing himself a small grin. "No, I suppose I don't. What would you like to do at 3:13, Alfred?"<p>

"Movie?"

"At 3:13?"

"We can be a little late," Alfred laughs. "What do you say?"

"What movie?"

"Uh, jee, what's on? I don't even know. How about the new Lego movie?"

Arthur snorts. "You want to spend eleven dollars to see that? Are you secretly a 12 year old? Now would be a good time to inform me."

"Well, actually..." Alfred lowers his voice, teasing. "I mean I just didn't want you to judge me. I'm a bit tall for my age." He laughs again. "As it so happens, I'd be willing to pay twenty-two dollars to see it."

Arthur blinks before he gets it and blushes dark red. "I can pay for my own ticket, thank you very much."

"But going Dutch is so unromantic," Alfred pouts. If Arthur has any doubts over the nature of their outing, they've dissipated now. This is a date.

His heart thuds a little faster. "How about I give you the money beforehand, and then you can feel like you're paying?"

"Hey," Alfred says. "I'm not actually twelve, so you know. Let me pay."

"Why? I'm saving you money and giving you the satisfaction of feeling like you're paying."

Alfred snorts. "I don't want 'the satisfaction'. I actually want to pay for you."

Arthur shakes his head in exasperation. "Why?"

"I'm a chronic spendthrift," Alfred says in such a serious tone that Arthur almost believes him. "When I see a really hot guy, I just can't control myself."

Arthur's face burns, "Oh shut up, you dunce. I'm paying for myself. I'll meet you at the theater tomorrow. Goodbye."

"Goodbye!" Alfred shouts before Arthur hangs up.

Arthur rolls his eyes, rubbing at his burning cheeks. An overwhelming sense of warmth floods through him. This will be fun. He has nothing to do on Sunday, anyway. Alfred wants to take him out.

Arthur can't suppress his smile, so he just decides to wear it.

0 0 0

The next day he stands anxiously shifting on the balls of his feet in the theater foyer. He has arrived ten minutes early and his heart is in his mouth.

Arthur smooths at his sweater, trying to calm himself. He knows that he's probably overdressed, but he always dresses this way and knows it would only make him more uncomfortable to dress down. He checks his phone for the time, absentmindedly patting down his hair. 3:10. Alfred should be here soon.

As the minutes trundle by, Arthur wonders if perhaps Alfred will stand him up. It's happened to him before. He threads his fingers together, feeling light-headed. The decadent smell of buttered popcorn isn't helping. A child runs by him, accidentally skimming their sticky fingers across his khakis. Arthur cusses softly at the stain, wishing parents could keep their spawn under control.

3:13. It's 3:13. Where's Alfred? He must have decided not to come.

Arthur checks his phone again. Dear goodness, he can't believe that-

"Surprise!" Alfred jumps out behind him, grabbing him by his shoulders. He had been hiding in the small bathroom alcove.

Arthur flinches and drops his phone on the ground, where the back comes flying off. "Fuck." He says before he can censor himself. A conservative-looking woman gives him a dirty look.

"Whoops." Alfred jumps to pick it up. "Probably should have waited till you put that away." He hands it back with a guilty smile. "If it's cracked, I can pay for a new one."

"It's fine." Arthur scowls, shoving it into his pocket without even looking. His stomach is tight with nerves, and he can't bring himself to worry about it.

Alfred laughs, scratching the back of his neck. No longer dressed in his chef's gear, Alfred has a certain inherent sloppiness about him. This doesn't turn Arthur off. Surprisingly. It's so natural that it almost makes him feel relaxed. Almost.

Alfred's messy golden hair has streaks from where he attempted to run the comb through it. His glasses are a little crooked, and he's wearing a Sonic the Hedgehog t-shirt under a nice dinner jacket. His jeans are a little big for him, and he pulls them up when they start to sag. "Gee, I'm real sorry about that," he continues, "I was only trying to scare you. I've got our tickets though." He plunges his hand into his pocket triumphantly and produces two beat up pieces of paper.

Arthur blinks. "How did..."

"Fandango." Alfred winks. "Guess you're not paying after all."

"Damn you." Arthur breathes, causing Alfred to laugh again.

"You look great," Alfred remarks as they start to amble towards the theater. "The green in your shirt, it makes your eyes really pop. In fact..." Alfred suddenly grabs him by his shoulders, steering him around to a certain position. He cocks his head, thoughtfully, biting his lower lip.

Arthur who is still trying to hide his blush from the compliment stammers "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Right... there." Alfred beams, then waves behind Arthur. Arthur turns to see the hooded forests by the parking lot outside.

"What?"

"Your eyes match the trees," Alfred grins. "It's really fucking cool."

Arthur's face reddens even more. "Are you quite done wasting time? We're missing the movie."

Alfred shrugs, pulling on a pout like second nature. "But I can't _see _you in the movie theater. And we have to get popcorn. Come on."

He grabs Arthur by the hand and tows him over to the counter. Arthur stiffens, glancing at his hand in Alfred's. "Do you want a slushie?" Alfred asks. "We can both get one and then share the popcorn. I think that's a number 10."

"No, that's ridiculously expensive." Arthur looks around. "I actually have to use the toilet. Just get something for yourself and I ah... might have some of yours."

"Okay. Hey wait!" Alfred calls him back before he can get away. "What kind of candy do you like?"

"I don't want any," Arthur brushes it off.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, positive."  
>"Alright, then. Theater six, front row, don't forget." Alfred winks, causing Arthur to roll his eyes again. He refuses to admit that it's even slightly sexy.<p>

Once he reaches the toilet, he stands in a stall until his heartbeat slows. Alfred isn't going to _make _him eat anything. He's worried about something ridiculous.

When he is calmer, he wanders down to theater six. Alfred waves, brilliant eyes glimmering. The movie started at 3:15, so they've missed the previews. Once Arthur sits down, Alfred offers him the large popcorn bucket. He shakes his head. Alfred thankfully drops it. A slight quizzical look pulls at his features, but he quickly forgets in favor of shoving popcorn into his own mouth.

The movie is kiddish, but not horrible. Arthur was never one for Legos, but Alfred looks like the type who used to build whole cities out of them as a kid. As it goes on, Alfred shifts closer and closer to Arthur. Alfred's leg presses against his in the dark. This is the part Arthur likes about movie dates.

Alfred fakes a yawn and then swings an arm around his shoulders, smiling widely at him in the dark. Arthur has too much dignity to allow himself to 'snuggle up', but he can't deny that he's sorely tempted. He rolls his eyes at Alfred's grin and returns his attention to the screen. Alfred's fingers brush up and down against his shoulder, sending shivers down his spine so much so that he can't even focus on what's happening anymore.

When the movie ends, Alfred jumps up perkily. "That was good, right?"

"As good as a child's film can be," Arthur answers, shaking his head. He forces back a yawn. Movies always make him sleepy, sitting in the dark for so long. He starts to stand up and black blotches zoom about his vision so that he can't see.

"Whoa, there, Art." He feels Alfred's suddenly strong hand grasping his arm. "You're not going to fall, are you?"

"I'm fine, imbecile." Arthur snarls, but he has to wait a moment for the splotches to fade. When they do, he sees Alfred's worried face. "I just stood up too fast. What are you worried about? It's called vertigo." He pushes past Alfred to get out, still feeling incredibly light-headed.

Alfred waits till they get outside before he grabs Arthur by the arm. Arthur can see that his blue eyes look conflicted like he wants to ask something. His own heart leaps into his mouth, and he feels an irrational fear run through him. He pleads silently that Alfred won't say anything.

Alfred finally cracks a worn smile. "Jeez, Art, you look like I'm about to murder you or something." He slowly lets go of Arthur's arm, reaching instead to brush a couple strands of hair from Arthur's eyes. "I had fun." He says softly. "Your commentary is by far the meanest movie commentary I've ever heard."

"I'm just speaking the truth," Arthur sniffs weakly.

Alfred grins. "I like it. I do." He hesitates for just a second, before pulling Arthur into a hug. The sun is just setting behind them and it's starting to get cold. They're shaded by the forest trees' looming shadows off to the edge of the old brick movie theater. Arthur is shocked by how warm Alfred is. He radiates heat like a furnace. Arthur's sweater is failing at keeping him warm, but with Alfred here it doesn't matter.

"I'm glad you called me," Alfred murmurs it into the top of his head, rubbing his hand absently back and forth across Arthur's back. "I think you're really cute. You know... this sounds lame, but when I was talking to the professor and you were walking by us, I kept trying to catch your eye. I sorta started bragging on myself being head chef for the day and stuff. I wanted you to notice me."

Arthur snorts. "You poor idiot."

Alfred chuckles. "It worked, didn't it?" He gives a happy sigh and falls silent. "You're going to have to tell me everything about you now."

"Everything?" Arthur says warily.

"Of course." Alfred pulls back just enough to look at him. "I know you're in a French history class, that you hate French people, and that you hate French food. You're an utter enigma to me, Arthur."

Arthur snorts again, but allows a small smile. "Well, in that case, I don't know very much about you, either."

"That's gunna have to change," Alfred's pulls him close again. "Let's see my favorite food is cheese alfredo pizza with the noodles on top and the white sauce instead of marinara."

Arthur crinkles his nose. "That sounds disgusting. Aren't you a chef?"

Alfred shrugs. "Can't beat the classics. Anyway, I'm working on developing a new recipe. It's really good."

Arthur is silent, listening to Alfred's breathing. "Do you create... your own recipes a lot?"

"Oh yeah. It's my favorite thing to do ever. I feel like I can really express myself with the pallet." Alfred smiles. "I mean, there's the actual presentation of the food which says something about it. But then there's the part where you close your eyes and you really feel the flavors, you know? Each flavor has a different emotion to it. It's like..." He laughs. "It's like experiencing artwork, even more so than writing or painting. Those create a sensation. Food, well, it is the sensation."

Arthur listens quietly. "You're very passionate about it." He murmurs.

"There was never anything else I wanted to do," Alfred says honestly.

Arthur nods, closing his eyes. Alfred has started to sway them back and forth and it's surprisingly soothing. He wishes that he could take Alfred back with him to the room. Sure, it's still early. But the covers seem like a good place to cuddle and talk about what they like. He likes to hear Alfred talk about food, he realizes.

"So..." Alfred trails. "What's your favorite food?"

Arthur turns his face forward with a groan, mashing his nose into Alfred's chest. Never mind. He doesn't want to talk about this. "I don't know."

Alfred's tone lilts up in amusement. Arthur can hear it through Alfred's shirt. "Oh so you just like everything." He's obviously teasing. One of his hands has found a sensitive spot at the base of Arthur's skull and rubs there tenderly.

"No, that's definitely not the answer." Arthur grumbles.

"I'll bet I can guess." Alfred ventures, still teasing. "Let's see... you're obviously from England, so... Do you like tea, Arthur?"

"That doesn't count as food, imbecile."

"No, but, do you like it?" Alfred presses curiously.

"Yes," Arthur admits.

Alfred beams, pulling back to smile at him. "Then I'll take you out for tea some time. There's got to be a good campus place around here somewhere."

"Alright..." Arthur agrees, knowing he'll probably have to fend off the inevitable sugary Danishes that accompany froufrou places, but he's willing to go... with Alfred.

Alfred smiles again, making Arthur's heart flutter. Of course, he then ruins it by opening his mouth. "Oh shit." Alfred breaks apart, brow furrowed, leaving Arthur abruptly ruffled and bereft. "Don't you have a class? I'm so sorry! Shit, it's like almost six too. We've been standing here a long time. I'm so sorry."

Arthur scowls nastily, cursing his stupid excuse.

Alfred assumes Arthur's angry at him and keeps up with a stream of apologies until Arthur can't stand it and snaps at him to shut up.

Alfred falls quiet. He ducks his head sheepishly.

So much for going back to the room, Arthur thinks. He bites his lip, considering. "Well, I have to go back to the dorm to grab some books. It's not too far... if you wouldn't mind walking with me."

Alfred perks immediately. His brilliant sunny smile returns with astonishing force. "Hell, if I would, sure!"

They start back together. At first, it's still a little awkward. But Alfred has an affinity for melting awkwardness. "Watch out!" he suddenly screeches, a goofy grin tearing his lips apart when Arthur jumps.

"What the hell are you yelling about?" Arthur snaps, rubbing at his chest and glaring.

Alfred waves down. "You were about to step in a piece of gum. That would have been a tragedy."

Arthur glances at the pink conglomeration with a curled lip. It _would_ have been a tragedy. These are his nice loafers. "You don't deserve a thank you for that." He says snippily, speeding up to walk ahead of Alfred.

"Um. I just saved your life." Alfred retaliates overdramatically, hurrying to catch up. "Do you know what can happen if you step on a piece of gum?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, acting as if it's ever so great a burden to ask. "What?"

"You could get stuck." Alfred says seriously, with a ghoulish grin lurking just behind his intent frown. "And if you get stuck, you'll never be able to move again. Every day, there you'll be. Open to the elements. Until you become a statue here and then a memorial. Then a grave."

Arthur's eyebrows lift. "Plot twist. I take off my shoe."

"You wouldn't." Alfred says. He sounds certain.

"You're saying I would stand there until I died when I could just slip my shoe off and walk away?"

"Yeaaaap." Alfred smirks. "You're too clean for it. I would do it. You wouldn't."

Arthur opens his mouth indignantly to explain why no, that is ridiculous. Yes, he cares about how he looks, but no, he would not just stand there until he died because he didn't want to touch the ground with his socked foot. He doesn't get the chance, though.

"Alfred! Hey, Alfred, wait up!"

They both turn to see a man with the pointiest hairstyle come jogging down the street. His hair sticks off in all different directions. Alfred's is naturally messy, but this man styles his hair to look messy. Arthur has no respect for him.

"Mathias! What's up?" Alfred holds out his hand and they bro hug. Arthur rolls his eyes. Great. "Hey, Arthur," Alfred turns to him, smiling. "This is Mathias. He's one of the guys that goes to school with me."

"So are you heading over?" Mathias blurts to Alfred impatiently. "Jett copped the key and Gil totally found a way to override surveillance. You have to be coming."

"Oh damn, that's tonight." Alfred bites his lip. "Man, I don't know about this..."

"Come on!" Mathias crows, bouncing a little. "You're literally the golden boy. Even if Basilio found out, he wouldn't do anything! Kiku's even coming for fuck's sake."

"Kiku?" Alfred starts to grin. "That's when the party starts."

"I don't know what universe you're living in." Mathias rolls his eyes. Alfred has a deep love for his friends, and seems to view them all as ultimately awesome. "Look, everybody's bringing somebody! It's going to be the time trial of the century. We'll have blue brandy, Jack Daniels, Jim, raspberry lemonade vodka. Whatever the hell you can think. You can even bring him." He throws his hand Arthur's way. "Just hurry up. We're already late."

"Oh," Alfred shifts back and forth on his heels. Arthur can tell he really wants to go. Whatever they're about to do seems ridiculously stupid. He wonders if he should say anything, but decides against it.

"Go on," he says reluctantly. "You don't have to walk the rest of the way."

Alfred's face falls. "Ah, Art. How about... why don't you come? I mean, I know you have a class, but it'll be really fun. The whole crew will be there. Like a party." He smiles pleadingly, lowering his voice. "I want to spend more time with you."

Arthur blushes, glancing at the impatient Mathias. "I... what are you even doing?"

Alfred smiles devilishly. "It'll be really fun. Trust me."

"It sounds illegal." Arthur says skeptically.

Mathias groans, suddenly grabbing both of their hands to start tugging them down the street. "It's a cooking challenge, dumbass. What do you think it is? We all want to be chefs. We draw cards with different foods and then see who can make them the best within the time limit. There's drinks and food. We sneak into the culinary school at night to do it. That's all you need to worry about."

Alfred jerks his hand back and then playfully swats Mathias' away from Arthur's. "Hands off." He says jokingly with a hint of seriousness. "This one's mine."

Arthur feels his face flush, but it's almost mechanical. Alfred and Mathias continue to banter as they walk along the darkening streets. Alfred's arm is around his shoulders, but it doesn't feel comforting anymore. It's constraining. He can't help throwing a worried look up at Alfred.

Alfred sees and misunderstands. He hesitates just a second before pressing a kiss to the top of Arthur's head. "Don't worry. They'll love you."


	3. Not Going to Judge

**Hello all! It is I. I have returned. *cue dramatic music***

**But no really, a lot of people messaged me about finishing this! I missed a week and it's good to know that you guys missed me. :) So here, have a lengthy, slightly edited third chapter on the house! (shipping charges do apply) **

**Thanks to all my reviewers followers and favoriters. Also shout out to ArthurKirklandEnglishGentleman for creating an account just to fave and review. That kinda made my jaw drop. heh. you obviously don't know me that well yet. :P**

**Warning: Slightly graphic. **

* * *

><p>The culinary school is a whole different world after dark. The formerly welcome windows now hang like gaping black mouths. Arthur follows quickly at Alfred's heels, trying not to trip over the potted plants. His heart thuds unusually quickly like it always does when he's doing something he knows he shouldn't. Being a third year in university does not make him any smarter apparently. He shakes his head in exasperation. Here he's dated this boy for all of four hours and they're already doing something stupid. He should take it as a sign.<p>

Alfred suddenly flashes a grin over his shoulder, holding his hand backwards for Arthur to grab onto. Curse the way Alfred's dimples show when he does that. Arthur slips his fingers between Alfred's, deciding he might as well kill himself.

Deep in the heart of the building lies the beat of food culture here at the Washington Culinary Institute: the kitchens. As they duck down silent hallways, Arthur can hear the distant sound of music. It isn't long before the smells become even more apparent. Something is cooking.

"Arthur!"

Alfred jolts him from his thoughts, coming to a halt outside a metal door. Mathias brushes past them impatiently. When he goes in, a flood of warmth, sound, color, and smell assaults Alfred and Arthur like a cannon. He notices Alfred swallow eagerly. Apparently, that bucket of popcorn really wasn't enough for him.

"Arthur," he says again. His blue eyes fill with a sincerity that makes Arthur shift nervously. "I promise everyone's super nice and awesome. I'm not going to ditch you in there like some jackass. You'll get to see me cook and I can show you my station where I usually work. And my team, and my oven, and my favorite ingredients for pie!" Alfred rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet in excitement.

Arthur scowls. "I'm not an invalid, Alfred. You don't have to hover." Though, he would prefer it. In fact, he would prefer to ditch this whole cooking thing entirely and head back to his room. A thought occurs to him that makes him perk. Maybe just maybe if he can work this right, there would yet be hope for his snuggly single bed back at the dorm.

Alfred's lips twitch. "I know. But..." he frowns looking troubled. "Earlier you looked nervous. I just didn't want you to think I'd strand you with a bunch of people you don't know." He raises his eyebrows earnestly, and Arthur is struck by how caring a person Alfred is.

Nevertheless, he retains his scowl on principle, pushing past Alfred. "Oh please."

"Okay then, tough guy," Alfred shrugs jokingly, following behind. He doesn't understand why Arthur is anxious, and if Arthur has his way, Alfred never will.

The room hits them like a blast of hot air. The kitchens are large and packed with people. Several metal preparation tables house red Solo cups and violently colored alcohols. Culinary students are scattered all about in aprons and white shirts. Quite a few people are obviously just guests, picking their way through mini hot dogs and shish kabobs, dressed in jeans and hoodies. A girl chases a boy in a chef's hat around the prep table, cornering him against the ovens with a kiss. Her red lipstick smears all over his face, but he doesn't seem to care, grinning.

The sharp lights sparkle across all of the appliances. There's the sound of a blender and the chopping of a food processor. Somewhere a kettle whistles. Pots spit on the stove and Arthur can see bread rising in one of the ovens.

As soon as Alfred enters, he's mobbed. Arthur realizes he should have expected this. Alfred is morbidly popular.

"Alfie, dude, yes!"

"He made it, Jett!"

"Who's ready for the competition tonight? Fuck yeah!"

Alfred dolls out highfives and hugs like a rockstar. His grin grows so wide it looks painful. He is in his element. His personality seems to magnify until he's caught the whole room's attention. Arthur feels abruptly unimpressive and wonders what claim he should be able to make on someone so well-liked. "Where's Gil?" Alfred asks as Mathias joins them again, but the crazy blonde doesn't get to answer before Alfred is shouting out. "Kiku, my man! Dude get over here!"

A short dignified Japanese man carefully edges his way through the humming crowd, looking slightly miffed. "Alfred." He greets simply.

Alfred beams. "Good I wanted to make sure you were here." Before Arthur can stop him, he grabs hold of Arthur's shoulders and steers him to stand in front. "This is Arthur, everyone!" He shouts. "You better be nice to him or I'll pull a Jett and burn the place down."

"Come on, mate! That was an accident!" A tan messy-haired guy shouts from the back, causing laughter to echo around. Arthur feels his face burn red in utter mortification and he shoves away from Alfred quickly, cussing.

"Stop it." He hisses under his breath, furious. "Stop acting like that. I am not a showdog."

Alfred's brow furrows. "What? I was just introducing you. Come on, Arthur. Don't be so-"

Arthur swears he's going to say uptight and if he says it he'll regret it for the rest of eternity, but Alfred doesn't get the chance because they're interrupted _again. _

"Looks like Alfie's got himself a boyfriend!" A beaming albino-haired boy shoves his way forward, smirking.

"Watch it Gil." Alfred says, his smile fading just a bit.

"My hands are within sight," Gilbert says defensively, holding out his palms. "There's not even any questionable liquid on them like last time."

"Shut up, Gilbert. My god you know how to make a bad impression," A brown haired girl elbows him in the side. Quite roughly too, judging by the way he grunts. "Hi," she smiles brightly at Arthur. "I'm Lizzy. You seem like a normal person." She cracks him a reassuring grin, gesturing herself down. "I don't go here either. I just came to make sure he keeps himself in line." She waves her thumb at Gilbert. "I assume you're here to make sure Alfred doesn't get too crazy."

"I'm always crazy, bitch." Alfred shoots her a grin. Arthur rolls his eyes.

"I'm going to fetch a shirt and then we'll get this party started." He continues, starting to turn away. "Jett, can you nominate some judges? Preferably somebody who's not already drunk."

"On it!" The Australian grins. "Let's see... Lizzy, are you in as always?"

"Always." Lizzy turns to Arthur, cocking her head to the side. "Why don't you judge too, Arthur?"

Mathias, who is tying an apron around his waist, groans. "No, he'll just pick Alfred because they're dating. That's totally unfair. You already think Alfred's adorable, so that's two unfair advantages."

"I'm adorable." Gilbert inserts, head lost in a pullover chef shirt. "If we're having a most adorable contest, it's me. I win. Lizzy would totally pick me." He flashes a crooked-tooth grin once he finds his way out, hair staticy. Lizzy rolls her eyes and sighs.

"Let Arthur be a judge, Mathias. You don't have to be such a bully. I know you'd pick Lukas as a judge anyway. It's only fair."

"But Lukas hates me," Mathias whines. "That's not an advantage at all. He purposefully picks other people so that I lose."

"Then stop hitting on him," Lizzy retaliates.

"_Then stop hitting on him,_" Mathias replies in a crude imitation of her accent, earning himself a swat. "Whatever I really don't care. I'm just damn starving. Where is Alfred anyway? Let's get this started."

"Arthur," Lizzy turns to him, grinning. He can't help but feel slightly dazed at all that's going on. The place is utter chaos and everyone seems to revel in it. He likes the warmth and the soft vibe, but finds himself wishing that Alfred didn't have to cook through it all. Preferring that they find some quiet corner and... explore new territory. Cough. cough.

"You're going to be a judge with me." She explains, leading him over to one of the empty preparation tables. Four stoves are on the other side. Each with three boxes beside them. "See, those three boxes? Some of the other chefs gathered ingredients to put in the challenge boxes, you know like those cooking shows on TV? Basically, they each open their first box and have to use all of the ingredients to create a dish within the time limit. The judges, that'll be me, you, and probably Kiku since he is an actual chef, will pick the loser for each round and then they get knocked out. There's three rounds and then we'll have a winner. The prize is no dish duty for a month."

Arthur swallows. "I'm not sure I-"

"It's okay. You don't have to know anything about food," she interrupts. "It's just for fun. In fact, the purpose is that we don't know much about food. It's all about which dish tastes the best, completely your opinion. " She leans forward a little bit, green eyes shining mischievously. "Alfred is notorious for winning. The testosterone in this room is about to reach an all time high because everyone wants to topple Wonderboy."

"Wonderboy?" Arthur forgets his anxiety momentarily.

"His nickname." Lizzy shakes her head. "Not the best, but it stuck."

"Lovely." He's dating a dufus. He's dating a real dufus. Arthur shifts on the balls of his feet, glancing over as Kiku joins them.

"Hello Arthur," he says quietly. "Alfred has talked a lot about you."

"He has?" Arthur blinks. They've known each other for what? A weekend?

"Yes..." Kiku trails a bit, almost looking like he might smile. "How he was going to outsmart you by buying the tickets online?"

Arthur snorts. "That won't happen again. He thinks I won't get him back, but I will."

Kiku examines him for a moment, almost like an x-ray, making him shift uncomfortably.

"They're almost ready," Lizzy informs him dutifully. "They're really fun to watch when they cook, but the best part, obviously, is the food."

Arthur's stomach turns and he swallows convulsively. "You know, I'd rather not be a judge, actually. I meant to say earlier. We came from the movies and I had nearly a whole bucket of popcorn. I don't think I could eat a spot more." He laughs, knowing that he's rambling a little bit. Kiku just stares silently, but Lizzy frowns.

"Ah, surely you can manage a few bites. You don't have to eat the whole dish. Even I don't do that. Some people on the other hand..." She shoots a look at Gilbert and Alfred who are trash talking each other in the corner. "I don't know how they're not thirty pounds heavier honestly."

Arthur nods, forcing his smile. "Really, though, I am quite full. I think I'll sit this one out." Why can't they just let him do what he wants? He shifts uncomfortably. She's still looking at him. Is she annoyed? Is she going to say something? Does she believe him? He tries to get his wayward thoughts under control, taking a deep breath.

"I think Alfred would be really disappointed if you didn't try at least one bite." She pouts, elbowing him in the side.

Damn her for playing the Alfred card. "Alfred can get over it." He mutters, running a finger under his collar. "I'm not going to judge."

"You're not?" Alfred shows up beside him, making him jump and scowl. "Come on, you barely had any popcorn! I don't think you even had any. I need to fatten you up. You're like ten pounds! Plus with you, I'd totally have this in the bag." He smiles teasingly, elbowing Arthur who reddens and shoves him away.

"Stop it, Alfred! I don't want to judge. Can you not get that through your thick skull, you idiot?" His vicious tone creates an uneasy silence. Lizzy stares and Kiku just looks uncomfortable.

Alfred frowns, rubbing at his side. "Alright, I wasn't going to make you be a judge. Jeez, I was just teasing." He sighs, glancing at his other two friends then back at Arthur. "Look, if you really want to, you can leave. I know you'd rather be in class."

"I never said that," Arthur retorts. His heart falls. Does Alfred really think that? He doesn't even have a class right now. It was just a stupid lie. "I just said I didn't want to be a judge. Don't put words in my mouth."

"I don't want you to be here if you don't want to be here." Alfred says and there's no hint of humor in his tone. He looks away fiddling with the buttons on his white shirt impatiently. He wants to get on with the night. Arthur is holding him back.

Arthur swallows. He should leave. He doesn't have a future with this boy. It would be utterly improbable for so many reasons. No matter how attractive Alfred is, he needs to save himself from falling too deeply. He's a master of self denial and he's perfectly capable of getting on without a goofy American.

He opens his mouth to say that he _should_ be leaving, but the damn kitchen lights and the noise, the smells. He throws the dog a bone. "I want to try your cooking though." He can't manage a smile, but he ducks his head, making himself appear bashful. He's a decent actor when he wants to be, which is often. It seems that recently he's been telling a lot of lies.

"Really?" Alfred perks up instantly. Arthur looks at him in disbelief.

"Good, I want you to try it." Alfred grins so widely. Arthur is shocked that he's the source for it. Before he can say anything else, Alfred pulls him into a hug, crushing his bones. He pulls apart breathlessly. "Sometimes," Alfred pants. "Sometimes I have a hard time saying what I mean, but I'll make you something special. Then... then you'll understand." He blushes, touching Arthur's fingertips lightly with his own.

His blue eyes fill with something tender that makes Arthur feel squirmy. He's not sure he's ever dated someone like this. Why does Alfred have to make everything so gushy?

"Hey Jones! Are you done reenacting the Notebook over there? Some of us want to start cooking!" Gilbert calls with a wicked grin.

"Fuck off, Gilbert." Alfred calls without missing a beat. "I'm going to kick your ass and you know it." He grins at Arthur. "Watch this."

The chefs line up. It's Gilbert, Alfred, Jett and Mathias. All of the spectators, other culinary students and their guests, crowd around. Munching and talking and drinking. Arthur stays by Lizzy who's responding vapidly to Gilbert's catcalls. Arthur wonders if they're going out. If they aren't, they will be.

"You are going to be a judge, Arthur?"

Arthur jumps, wishing people would stop sneaking up on him. He meets Kiku's deep brown eyes uncertainly. "I said I wasn't."

"How else will you try his food?"

"I don't want to try _their _food." Arthur growls irritably. As it is, he doesn't want to try Alfred's food either.

Jett, who is standing nearest to them, calls out, "Hurtful, mate!"

Arthur doesn't offer an apology. With a shout from one of the culinary students, the competitors are now allowed to open their boxes. Each pulls out their different ingredients. Arthur judges by their facial expressions whether they're happy or not. He knows next to nothing about cooking, so all ingredients are basically useless to him. Alfred is frowning at his haul in concentration. For once, there is no happy go lucky grin. His hair flutters in his face and he brushes it away in annoyance.

"Start the timer." Kiku says.

Lizzy holds up her iPhone timer. "Ready, set, go!" She starts the clock and the chefs are whirling into actions. The loud clanks of various pots and pans echo discordantly. Gilbert and Jett throw pots full of water on the stove. Mathias preps his oven and starts up a mixing bowl with flour. Alfred, however, starts running in the opposite direction.

"Where is he going?" Arthur asks incredulously as Alfred darts from the room.

"Supply closet," Kiku half-smiles. "He has a plan."

Lizzy groans. "Is he going to make another dessert?"

"That's his favorite thing to do." Kiku shrugs. "I would say it's likely."

"Can... can they make anything?" Arthur asks hesitantly.

"Anything they want to, first round." Lizzy nods. "After that, they can only make entrees. That makes it more difficult, especially when some of the ingredients are chocolate chips or pie filling. They really have to know how food works, what flavors go with what."

"Interesting." Arthur says quietly. He means it too.

Alfred comes galloping back in with a giant machine in his arms. Arthur doesn't recognize what it is. But Gilbert glances over and whistles. "You're fucking crazy, Jones. With those ingredients. Good luck."

Alfred doesn't pay him a glance, searching for a plug. "Keep your luck, Gil. I really don't need it." He jumps to his feet again, catching Arthur's gaze. A brilliant smile lights up his features. "Do you like ice cream, Arthur?"

Arthur hasn't had ice cream since... secondary? "Possibly," He settles to say. His stomach feels like a ball of cement, so he feels that's an honest enough answer.

Alfred's grin falls to a smirk. "Okay," he says as he dumps a splash of milk into a mixing bowl. "I see how it is. You'll like my ice cream. Promise." He flashes another quick grin Arthur's way, already splashing liquid on his uniform as he whisks furiously.

The competition continues for thirty minutes or so. Arthur isn't really paying attention to the time. Some people aren't paying attention at all, lost in the throes of that interesting blue raspberry vodka. He knows it's a girly drink, but his curiosity gets the better of him. He sends a quick look at Alfred, pleased to see he can slip away without being noticed.

Arthur approaches the prep table cautiously, half thinking that someone will tell him to stop. He reaches out, making sure to avoid the greasy heaping plates of onion rings and other fried crap. His fingers close around the neck of the bottle and he brings it forward curiously. It's half gone and violently blue. The label is hot pink and ripped a bit. He turns it around to examine the nutrition facts. Not that alcohol has ever been very nutritious.

64 calories an ounce. 0 percent on everything else. No sodium. No potassium. No trans fat. Just alcohol it seems. Blue raspberry flavored alcohol. He can manage that. Can't he? He'll splurge tonight. Ice cream and vodka. Why not? It's within reason and control.

He grasps the bottle more firmly, determining to seek out a measuring cup so that he can get the proportions correct. There must be one around. It is a goddamn kitchen. He starts to walk towards some drawers when Lizzy calls him back.

"Arthur, they're almost finished! Get over here!"

He hesitates, but gives in with a sigh. He should be there for Alfred. After all, he's going to have to eat this ice cream. There's no choice in it anymore. His stomach knots uncomfortably at the thought. He _hates _being forced to eat things. It's a big enough deal to figure out when he should eat things and how he should eat things. He doesn't need people dictating what he should eat on top of it.

He joins Lizzy reluctantly. She flashes a smile his way. He supposes he can at least commend her for still being polite after he snapped earlier.

The crowd around them starts to count down. "Five, four, three, two..."

Jett, Gilbert, Mathias, and Alfred are all sweaty and panicy, scurrying to get something on the plates. Arthur sees that Alfred has created a pastry to go along with a delicate scoop of what appears to be orange ice cream. Wonderful. He sends a helpless glance at the door, holding the bottle of alcohol to his chest. If it gets too hot, he supposes he could hide in the bathroom. Or walk back to the dorms. Anything but calories.

"One!" Everyone shouts and the scrape of four individual plates being pushed forward draws Arthur's attention back to the scene.

They've found someone to replace him as judge. Arthur doesn't know her, nor does he care. Alfred catches his eye, suddenly coming out from around the table to join him at the back. "Excuse me," he says as he pushes past people, brushing his sweaty bangs from his eyes. "Hey," He greets warmly when he reaches Arthur's side. "Hey, I've got a wager."

"A wager?" Arthur murmurs suspiciously.

"Sure, you eat that whole plate of ice cream and we're out of here right now." Arthur's eyes shoot up in surprise. Alfred grins mischievously. "It's noisy here, hot and loud. And I don't get to talk to you. We can head back to... somewhere. My place or yours. It depends on if my roomie's home."

Arthur swallows. "Why do I have to eat the whole plate for that?"

Alfred shrugs. "You can pretend to get sick off of it and I can use it as an excuse to get our asses out of here. They won't let me leave otherwise. I'm dead serious. They're like... ridiculous." He laughs shaking his head. "I know it's kind of a dumb idea, but it'll give you the chance to try my food and Gilbert a chance to feel like he won for once. Cuz I made you sick." Alfred snorts. "Like I'd ever do that."

Well, you're very close to it, Arthur thinks. Normally, he would refuse something like this outright. He doesn't eat on demand. Alfred doesn't tell him what to do. But... leaving early sounds glorious. He was going to have to try Alfred's food anyway. It's just a few extra bites. This means he won't allow himself to have the vodka though. And no cucumbers in the morning. He exhales. For two mornings at least.

Alfred is looking at him with puppy dog eyes and he feels the pressure building. Alfred is remarkably good at forcing people to eat his food. "Alright," he snaps. "Fine. I'll eat it and pretend to get sick and then we're going to my dorm room and you're doing whatever I tell you to do."

"Deal." Alfred agrees eagerly. "I'm your slave."

"The sad part is you think I'm joking." Arthur scowls, pushing the bottle of vodka into Alfred's hands. "Put that back."

"Why?" Alfred looks at it, grinning. "We could take it with us?"

"I can't have any." Arthur says impatiently, wanting to get this over with. "I'm already way over the limit at this point. I simply must have some self control."

"The limit?" Alfred frowns. "What limit? Were you drinking already?"

"No," Arthur delivers a deep sigh. "Just put it back, will you? I have to eat your goddamn food."

"Hey," Alfred waggles a finger at him. "That's a privilege."

He rolls his eyes, beginning to push through the crowd. If only. Anyone else would be dying to eat Alfred's food. He wishes he could trade spots with anyone else. Nonetheless after the judges have spoken and kicked Jett out, Arthur comes forward to reluctantly claim the last of Alfred's plates of ice cream.

"It's really good, Arthur," Lizzy raves, licking her fingers.

He just manages to keep his lip from curling in disgust. He doesn't mind other people eating, but he wishes they wouldn't shove it down his throat. No pun intended.

For a minute, all he can do is stare at the dish. It's cooked to perfection. The crust of the pastry is perfectly golden. The ice cream which is in fact orange flavored has a decorative bit of orange peel cresting the top. It looks creamy enough to coat his tongue, and the pastry would melt at first taste. He swallows heavily.

He feels something cool being pressed into his hand and then something warm pressing up against his back. It's Alfred, giving him a fork. "Hurry up and we can get out of here." He says in a low eager whisper.

Arthur scowls. "You can't speed the process, imbecile. I'm critiquing your presentation." Really, his heart is pounding and he's gathering his nerve.

Alfred laughs and even Kiku smiles beside him. "How is it?" He murmurs deeply, voice rumbling. He lets his arms slip carefully around Arthur's waist, resting his chin on Arthur's shoulder. "Does it make you want to take your clothes off and sing hallelujah?"

Arthur groans. "You're just horny, you wanker."

He feels Alfred smile against his neck and say nothing. Confirmation. Arthur would rip him a new one if he wasn't feeling exactly the same way. With his mind on Alfred, he adjusts the fork in his hand so that he holds it right, forces down the lump in his throat, and gently slices a small bit of the pastry and ice cream onto the utensil. He tries not to make a big deal of it, knowing that many people are watching.

Arthur Kirkland is an excellent liar. When the dessert hits his tongue, he turns to Alfred and smiles teasingly. "I possibly like this ice cream."

"Possibly." Alfred challenges, pressing his lips freely to Arthur's head. "Possibly? Ah, you wound me."

Arthur rolls his eyes, swallowing. He can feel it scrape down his throat, gently nudging at every ridge of his trachea. Nearly causing him to... He coughs compulsively, quickly covering his mouth. Alfred blinks in surprise letting go. "You alright?"

"Just choking." He forces another grin, swallowing more forcefully.

Alfred grins. "Don't do that. I need you for things."

"Things?"

"Special things." He smirks teasingly, resuming his hold on Arthur's waist.

Arthur snorts, turning his gaze reluctantly back to the plate. If only one bite were enough.

It's a long journey from there, plodding through the mountains of gold crumble crust and light orange slopes. He admits to himself that Alfred's arms provide a good distraction when they wrap around him. They keep his mind off of his dilemma. Yet for every bite he eats, there's another one. It's work enough keeping up his endurance. He hears voices like distant echoes. Lizzy is teasing him about loving it so much he's eating the whole thing. He purposefully acts like he can't hear her.

She's gone and eaten the whole thing too, hasn't she? Who is she to judge? She probably can't even begin to guess how many calories are in something so rich as this. Arthur tries to keep himself from estimating, but the numbers pop into his head without heed. He would peg it at least 650. The cream is very rich. It's like slime. Maybe 750.

Really, he can't taste a thing of it. If he thinks about taste, it tastes disgusting like acid. It burns his mouth. He wants to spit it back out. And he can feel it. That's the worst part. He feels it crawl sluggishly down his throat, taking its damn time before it burrows like a hibernating beast in his stomach. Never still, but scratching and crawling and shifting and _gurgling_. He _hates_ it. God, he hates it. No cucumbers tomorrow. No tea either. Nothing. He'll allow himself nothing.

He licks his lips, unable to be rid of the heaviness on his tongue. It's too heavy. His guts churn and staring at the nearly empty plate, he suddenly has to press his face into Alfred's chest. He can't look at it. He can't think about how _he _ate all that. How now it's all in his stomach, setting there like a rock, a brick. There's only a couple crumbs left on the plate now.

750? It has to be 800.

He feels so heavy. He is so heavy. He lost control and now he's paying the price.

He keeps his face pressed into Alfred's chest, his heart beating faster. He can feel his stomach groaning.

"You alright, Arthur?" Alfred asks, but there isn't real worry in his tone. He thinks Arthur is play acting sick, which Arthur assumes is for the best. Apparently, he's eaten enough now. No, who is he kidding, more than enough. More than he ever wanted to eat. His pulse thuds in his ears. He pulls back from Alfred, eyes wide.

"...Arthur?" Real concern colors Alfred's tone in confusion.

He must look afraid then. He has to control himself. In front of Alfred. "I'm fine... just... just..." he stumbles. "Feeling a bit sick." He forces himself to look around him. People are watching. He's playing his part though. Thank God.

"Do you think we should head out?" Alfred asks and he sounds vastly uncertain. He can't tell whether Arthur is serious or not.

"Yeah... that... yes... that would be excellent." Arthur draws himself up, arms falling to clutch at his stomach. It's wider now, isn't it? It feels harder. A full plate was too much. Alfred asked for too much.

Alfred frowns and then suddenly says very seriously, "Arthur, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He starts to say and the words get about halfway out of his mouth. He does something dumb though. In his efforts to avoid Alfred's prying eyes, he looks down. His eyes fall on the empty plate again and before he can stop himself, he gags.

People part like the Red Sea when he does. His arms grasp around his middle and he doesn't want to puke. Not in front of all these people. Maybe later. When he's alone and he can get rid of it. _Get rid of it._ But not here. Not in front of the boy he likes.

Arthur panics and that only makes it worse. Alfred can't see him looking so filthy. But he can feel it _moving. _One more look at the empty plate sends him over the edge. The disgusting, _disgusting _pastry comes soaring back up and fills his cheeks. He can't make himself swallow it again. He can't have it in his mouth any longer. He vomits.

Now that he sees it on the floor and it's disgusting, _disgusting. _Food is _disgusting. _He gags again and starts choking, coughing it up in splatters. Oh shit. Tears are in his eyes. He can feel himself hyperventilating. He can't breathe, and he looks like an idiot. He's fat and he can't control himself and he's useless. He can't... he's not... he'll never...

"Arthur."

Arthur feels Alfred's hand on his back. "Hey... breathe, okay?" Alfred pats him firmly, using his other hand to grab Arthur's shoulder and very carefully steer him into an upright position. Arthur's face flushes brilliant red. He searches Alfred's face for disgust, because it's there. Somewhere. Alfred just hides it well. He's a good person. He's expected to hide it.

Alfred frowns. "I really made you sick, didn't I? Fucking Christ." He's the only one standing within five feet of Arthur. Everyone else having moved to get out of the splash zone.

"I... I'm sorry, Alfred." He stumbles, heart thundering. "It was really good. I just... I'm..." Stupid, an idiot, not strong enough, not good enough.

"Hey, it's not your fault." Alfred very gently cups his cheek. "You're sick and that's okay. Look, I'll get you a bowl and we'll blow this joint. Don't you worry about anything. We're going back to your dorm and I'm making you lay down. I know the janitor who works here nights and he'll clean this up, no problem." Alfred's fingers soothingly stroke at his cheek. "Don't look that way. It's not your fault."

But it is. It his is fault.

Even so, when Alfred puts an arm around him, he can't help but greedily lean into it. He doesn't ever want to see these people again, but he wants Alfred. He doesn't deserve Alfred, but that doesn't keep him from wanting. He can't control himself and that's his problem. He can't control how much food he eats and he can't control how _badly _he wants someone that will never love him.

He leads Alfred through the dark streets to his dorm room. His roommate is thankfully absent. As soon as they walk through the door, Alfred takes charge, finding his pajamas and shoving them into his arms. Ordering him to take medicine. Forcing him to bundle up.

He rolls his eyes and grumbles about Alfred's treatment, but secretly he enjoys it. When Alfred finally settles next to him, pulling him wonderfully close in the small twin bed, he relishes it. There's the guilty pang that settles in his stomach like a concrete block, that this is a lie and he's only copping affection out of Alfred. But he shoves that away, tugging Alfred's arms more firmly around himself.

Alfred chuckles against the back of his neck. He rubs his nose up and down at the base of Arthur's skull, humming. "This isn't how I expected the day to end. And you're probably not feeling too hot, but... it's not so bad."

Arthur snorts. But he agrees. This is far from bad. If he can just keep Alfred from discovering how disgusting, _disgusting _he is, then maybe this can continue for a little longer.

* * *

><p><strong>off topic but... Soon I'll totally be posting some Christmas fics. I AM SO PSYCHED. <strong>


	4. Catcher Pitcher

**Look who updated on time! This person! Woot. Hailing from nowhere Kansas for Thanksgiving, I hope all you Americans had a blissful food coma. I'm just thankful I have wifi :P**

**This chapter is pretty long... so I'll just leave you to it. Germain= Germania.**

* * *

><p>Arthur's nose twitches. Something brushes along his cheek and he bats at it moodily. His alarm hasn't gone off. For all intents and purposes, he is dead before eight a.m. The tickling sensation continues though, until he can't ignore it. His eyes fly open and he's ready to give his face a good all around scratching.<p>

But a tan hand obscures his vision, and he realizes with a jolt that he's not alone in his bed.

"Morning." Alfred's low sleepy voice rumbles near his ear. He traces his thumb down Arthur's cheek with a soft grin. His hair is flying all about his face like a crow's nest and the blue of his eyes seems unusually luminescent as he squints. "Sorry to wake you. I just wondered if you were going to get up at all today?"

Arthur scowls. "What does that mean?" He irritably pushes Alfred's hand away, burrowing a little more into the covers.

Alfred chuckles lightly. "I never pegged you as the sleeping in type."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur grumbles. "The alarm hasn't gone off. It's before eight... Isn't it?"

Frowning, he sits up, cracking his back. Alfred's hand falls from Arthur's face to rest at the dip of his spine, rubbing there lightly. Arthur massages back his rumpled hair, frowning. "What time is it?"

Alfred waves lazily at the floor, grabbing their shared pillow and tugging it over his face. "You kicked it off at some point. Wasn't a lot of room."

The overturned clock ticks down another minute. Arthur has to tilt his head to read it. Wait. 11:53? "Oh shit." Arthur shoves away the covers, rushing to check the alarm. It didn't go off. "Shit, shit, shit, shit."

"Do you have a class?" Alfred yawns, watching him scurry about like a rabbit on caffeine. Alfred is still in his clothes from the other day, rumpled jeans and chef shirt. His Nike AirMax are jumbled on the carpet.

"Yes... well, no." Arthur admits, scouring his closet for something to wear. "It's just... I need to be downstairs for lunch."

"Are you really feeling up to that?" Alfred half-whines. "You were sick the other day. Come on! I think you're too sick to go anywhere. Too sick for classes. Too sick for food. Too sick for getting out of bed and leaving Alfred lonely and forsaken."

Arthur snorts.

"Anyway, I don't have anything going on." Alfred smiles when Arthur catches his gaze. "We could, just, you know, stay in bed. Call it a day."

Arthur bites his lip, scanning over Alfred. Particularly Alfred's arms, which were very comfortable now that he recalls. Damn it. That was the best sleep he's had in ages. He can't remember waking up once. "I really have to go downstairs," he says regretfully, balancing his armload of clothes. "But, I'll come right back and we can uh..." he blushes a bit. "Start again where we left off."

Alfred groans. "Do you really gotta leave?"

"Yes, I really gotta." Arthur rolls his eyes at Alfred's terrible grammar, leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom.

Alfred chuckles. "Fine, fine, Mr. Responsible. I admire your ability to keep a schedule. At least bring me something from the cafeteria. I'll be keeping the bed warm for when you return."

Before Alfred can see, Arthur shuts the door, feeling a soft giddy smile pull at his features. Alfred is going to wait for him.

He wriggles his way into his sweater vest, purposefully ignoring his reflection. He doesn't have time to do anything with his hair, and he knows it looks awful. A quick comb through only makes it stick up worse and crackle with static.

He scuffs on his loafers and is just about to take off, when he catches a glimpse of himself and groans. He needs to shave. Badly.

He doesn't look appalling with stubble, but he has nice clean cut clothes. They just don't look right with fuzz.

"Damn it," he hisses softly to himself. He jerks open a drawer, searching for his razor. A glimpse of garish red plastic draws his fingers. He quickly starts to fill up the sink. To keep his collared shirt from getting wet, he rolls up his sleeves sloppily, dolloping his hands with shaving cream. Since he's already quite late, he decides to take the time for a piss.

Standing over the toilet, he brandishes his razor only to realize that it's chock full of his roommate's hair.

"Oh fucking shit!" He exclaims, throwing the disgusting thing against the wall. Perhaps he is being a pansy, but he refuses to touch anything his sloppy, disgusting roommate has touched as well.

Arthur zips his trousers in a rush, stumbling out with a white foam beard to search for a razor in his travel bag.

It truly is amazing how fast he can forget Alfred is in a room.

Alfred lounges on his bed, TV on. He raises his eyebrows when he sees Arthur. His expression furrows teasingly and he smiles. "Nice look. Very Santa."

"Oh, shut it." Arthur snaps, nonetheless blushing a violent red. They've only been on their first date yesterday. He's trying not to make a complete fool of himself just yet.

Alfred only laughs. "Don't forget to bring me back something, okay? I'm starving!"

"I will. I will." Arthur growls, not bothering to close the bathroom door as he resumes shaving with vigor. "God, do you ever stop eating?"

"Nope, I'd die." Alfred snickers at his own cleverness and then groans again. "Come on, Arthur. You don't have cable. Did you know that? This sucks."

Arthur's lips twitch. "There's Apple TV, you moron. Flip that little black box on at the base. We've got Netflix, Hulu, Crunchyroll, the works."

"You are awesome." Alfred grins eagerly. "I might just come live at your place."

"Why? Five inch televisions suit your fancy?"

"Nah, but five inch beds do. 'Specially with you." Alfred flashes another grin when Arthur looks over. "Do you even have a roommate?"

"Yes, but he thankfully has a partner. Gets him out of my hair." Arthur snorts, using a washcloth to scrub off the excess shaving cream.

"Our hair, you mean." Alfred catches his gaze meaningfully. "I really like you so far, Arthur. Not to move too fast or anything, but I'm hoping we could make this a regular thing."

Arthur doesn't say a word at first, careful to regulate his facial expressions. He throws the towel over the shower curtain rod to dry, smoothes down his hopeless hair, and adjusts the sleeves of his collared shirt. Inside, his heart is thundering like no other. Out of the corner of his eye, he can admire Alfred while pretending to look at himself in the mirror.

Alfred is very attractive. Without the sloppy hopelessness of his usual clothes, he can even exude a certain amount of professionalism. Last night, Arthur remembers thinking that Alfred looked remarkably good in that clean cut chef's uniform. In the morning with his hair rumpled and his eyes squinty, his smiles are more crooked and he tends to giggle more than laugh. Arthur takes pride in knowing what Alfred is like in the morning. He tucks away each little observance like a treasured secret, intent to remember every detail like dates in his history classes.

"Arthur..." Alfred prompts hesitantly when he still doesn't answer.

Arthur takes a breath, holding his chin up higher. He is careful to keep _too _much honesty from entering his tone. "Yeah, I think that would be alright. Depending on how much you're over, I can make you split the Netflix bill."

"Heeeyyy!" Alfred whines. His sunny smile returns in full force. "You're a little bastard, Arthur. We haven't even gone on our second date, yet." He stands like he plans to send Arthur off at the door.

Arthur ignores the fluttery pleasure at the thought, rolling his eyes. "You seem to have made yourself perfectly comfortable. I'm merely including you. You wanted to pay, _remember?_"

Alfred snorts this time, though his smile never deserts his face. "You were sick last night, you big meanie. I was going to stay whether you wanted me to or not." He reaches for Arthur, pulling him into a big hug. "Your roommate obviously wouldn't have been there for ya, so I guess you had to be stuck with me."

Arthur pretends to grumble, not hugging back. A flood of guilt settles in his stomach all the same. Sick. Right.

"See you..." Alfred trails, waiting for him to fill in details.

Arthur coughs. "An hour tops."

"You don't mind if I stay here?"

"By all means," Arthur murmurs. "I'll bring you something to eat, too. What do you like?"

"Ehhh..." Alfred scratches the back of his head. "God... I'm up for anything. Are you going to eat with me or with someone else?"

Arthur shifts. "I'm going to go ahead and eat down there. How about... How about I bring you some Chinese? I've heard it's the best thing in the cafeteria."

"Alright," Alfred nods agreeably. "Sure thing. Later then, Arthur. I'll be..." He turns to take a flying leap onto the bed. "Here when you return."

"Don't break anything, idiot." Arthur rolls his eyes in exasperation. Once he's out the door, he settles into a jog. He's already way late. They usually meet about a half hour before this. If Arthur had his choice, he wouldn't be meeting them at all. However, he knows if he doesn't show up, it'll only get worse.

He rides the lift down to the first floor dining hall. Every student he's ever spoken with has raved about his fabulous luck in getting placed at Myers House. The dining hall located just inside, you don't even have to change out of your pajamas!

Like Arthur would ever wander out of his dorm room, let alone floor, with pajamas on. He adjusts the collar of his shirt, scanning the tables. The place is packed. It's a Monday and school is in full swing. The smells of various foods clash in waves around him. With so many people, he finds it hard to spot the person he is looking for. Secretly, he hopes they've given up and left.

Arthur makes a beeline for the Chinese queue, reaching into his pocket to fiddle with his meal plan card. He's hardly used it at all this year, finding it much more calming to spend mealtimes alone in his room.

With the extra money, he decides he can definitely indulge Alfred. He'll get him the best noodles, maybe a smoothie, even a dessert. Arthur smiles quietly to himself, imagining Alfred's enthusiasm. Alfred is always excited about food.

"Arthur! There you are. I've been looking for you."

Arthur flinches, giving a sigh. He glances over to see one of his history professors smiling pleasantly at him. The man has long nearly waist length blonde hair. He is one of the oddballs of the campus, a bit quirky in his teaching methods. He has a dreamy way about him that rubs certain students the wrong way. Arthur has never thought ill of him until recently.

"Professor Germaine." Arthur acknowledges him stiffly.

"You seem to have beat me to it." The man remarks, gesturing at the winding queue in front of them. "I'm glad to see you picking up a plate, though."

Arthur forces a smile in response, shifting uncomfortably. Every time he talks to the man, it's like being thrown backwards in time. To a stuffy office filled with encased manuscripts. Old fashioned bookcases with creaky ladders to reach the top shelves. Dusty lemon candies untouched for centuries in a little glass bowl...

_Professor Germaine smiles over his crossed fingers at Arthur. Second semester. Last year._

_ "Arthur, you have not been quite as sharp in class as you used to be. Pardon my asking, but has something been going on?"_

_ "No sir, nothing. I suppose I..." he laughs nervously. "haven't been getting enough sleep."_

_ "Hmm." Professor Germaine says nothing, eyeing him in a way that leads Arthur to believe he can see right through him. "Why was it that you skipped our lunch together the other day?"_

_ Arthur swallows, believing his professor to be angry. "I'm so sorry, sir. I did not mean to waste your time. Something... something came up. I'm sorry I had to cancel so short notice."_

_ Professor Germaine says nothing, again. Examining his fingernails. "Arthur, I haven't seen you in the dining hall recently."_

_ Arthur blinks, throat going tighter. "Well... no, I'm very busy. I work and have classes. Usually, I just grab something on the way back to my dorm, if I can."_

_ "Arthur..." Professor Germaine looks up at him seriously. "I go to the dining hall at precisely eleven forty five every week day. Next time, I will see you. Do you understand?"_

_ Arthur can't swallow. His palms are sweating. "Sir, I don't- I don't understand."_

_ "You need to come to the dining hall, Arthur."_

_ "Why?"_

_ "I'm concerned about you, Arthur."_

_ "About what?"_

_ "I'm concerned that you're not eating." Professor Germaine levels him with a heavy gaze. _

_ Arthur scowls, looking away. "That's ridiculous. You don't know about my eating habits. I meet with you once a week. You can't possibly know what I do with my time. I could eat ten meals for all you know. Maybe I just exercise. Maybe I-"_

_ "Arthur," His professor interrupts again. "Let me rephrase what I was saying before. I will see you at the dining hall or a nurse will be seeing you in your dorm next time you don't show up."_

_..._

So here Arthur is, or rather here he is every weekday, under the watchful eye of his annoying as hell history professor. Arthur doesn't care how good-hearted the man may seem. It is strictly none of his business what Arthur chooses to put in his mouth. He has his reasons for not eating in the dining hall. He's perfectly allowed to do whatever he wants. He's an adult.

In fact, he's not even sure why he comes. The threat of the nurse doesn't scare him. He just doesn't want more people in his business is all. Honestly. He wishes people would leave him alone.

Professor Germaine continues to talk to him. Arthur takes a childish sort of pride in tuning him out completely until they reach the counter. He finds what appears to be the best looking dishes, asking for takeaway boxes and a large smoothie. He decides he'll buy Alfred a dessert somewhere else. Fortune cookies seem to be the only sweet thing on the menu here.

"You won't be eating with me today?" Professor Germaine asks softly.

"Nope." Arthur feels that he shouldn't have to explain what he does in the privacy of his dorm room. He's not about to tell Professor Germaine that he has a hopefully-soon-to-be boyfriend waiting for him upstairs.

Nonetheless, at the professor's pressuring looks, Arthur construes a story to get himself out. "I have a paper that I haven't even begun to work on. I'm planning on stocking up and heading out." He takes the bag and the smoothie from the worker, handing over his card.

Professor Germaine doesn't seem to believe him, but he doesn't push. "Alright then, Arthur. I'll see you in class Wednesday."

Arthur forces a smile. Once he's far away enough, he scowls. He hates that man.

After stopping at a place for cookies, Arthur gladly skirts the parting lunch crowd. He whistles all the way up, getting more and more exhilarated as the floors tick by. When he reaches his floor, he's practically skipping. He doesn't have any classes today, no work, nothing at all. If Alfred hadn't come along, it would have been his worst day of the week.

He is ahead of the syllabus after all, and without enough schoolwork to occupy him he doesn't like to consider where his thoughts could have ended up.

Arthur knocks at the door, nearly smiling. His hands are too full to grab his key, so Alfred will have to get his lazy ass up. He shifts his feet for a minute, feeling winded. This food is really heavy. His arms are burning. When Alfred doesn't come, he groans, leaning down to set the bag on the floor and fish for his key.

"I hope you're happy about this, you lazyass," he pants a little bit, stopping to rub his biceps. Was the food really _that_ heavy?

The key goes in with a click and he kicks the door open with his foot.

It's like someone pulling the plug on the electric. His face falls immediately when he sees the empty bed, the curtains fluttering quietly above the vent. Arthur doesn't want to believe it at first. He grabs the stupid bag of food shoving it onto his desk unceremoniously. For a second, he doesn't face his bed. The front door slides closed with a _whoosh_ and he is alone in the room. Alone.

Just to be sure, he calls very softly. "Alfred?" His voice sounds pitiful even to his own ears.

He trudges over to the bathroom and pushes open the door. Empty. Finally, he looks back at his bed. Sheets rumpled. His eyes fall to the floor. Alfred's Nikes are gone.

Arthur swallows. The emotion hits him like a train full-force. Any rational explanation for why Alfred might have left deserts his mind. All he can think is that Alfred did leave and that Alfred probably left because of him. He doesn't want to cry about it, because that would be ridiculous. They've had one date. He needs to put on his big boy pants.

But with the cloying smell of food and nobody to eat it, the silence without the TV on, he feels tears gather ridiculously in his eyes. Before he can get that icky feeling, that slimy wet, disgusting feeling of tears trundling downwards, he falls face first onto his pillow. He stays like that for awhile, trying to calm himself. He attempts to get up a few times. His arms still burn from carrying the takeaway so he gives up.

Once, his hand brushes a sheet of paper. Probably some loose schoolwork. He crumples it and uncrumples it in his fist without looking. Finally, he gathers the energy and rolls onto his back to look. It's a note with handwriting.

He doesn't recognize the nasty chicken scratch, but he catches the signature at the bottom, complete with goofy smiley face. Alfred.

_I'm so so so so so so so so sorry! My head chef found out we snuck into the culinary school last night! :( He called me down to yell at me! But I'll be back! Promise! I tried to find you in the cafeteria when I walked out but it was SO crowded. So I went back and wrote this note! Hi! _

_ Btdubs save my food for me, alright? I think you have a mini fridge? Do you have a mini fridge? If not we're investing in a mini fridge. Once again, I'm super sorry! I would have texted you but I couldn't find your number on my phone.__ Insert Artie's phone number here . __ I'll see you really soon, alright? Try not to be too sad about missing my utter awesomeness. (...i think Gilbert's rubbing off on me...) _

_ :D See you, Alfred._

_Oh P.S. I saw on your instant queue you're watching American Horror Story. Fuck, that shit is scary. I was thinking we could watch the next episode together? You're slightly ahead of me, but you can bring me up to speed. plus...i'mkindaafraidofwatchingitalone..._

Arthur snorts, feeling a smile pull at his face. He _knew _what they were doing was stupid yesterday, but did anybody listen? Nope. He reaches up and brushes the rest of his tears away, scolding himself for acting so much like a teenage girl.

Nonetheless, his heart still feels incredibly warmer. He wants to do something nice for Alfred. Standing, he puts the Chinese in his roommate's mini fridge. (He doesn't have much use for one.) Looking around, he wonders what nice thing he can do for someone he only met a couple days ago. All he knows about Alfred is that Alfred is an aspiring chef. Alfred likes all kinds of food. His favorite was... Arthur frowns, biting his lip. It was some kind of pizza, wasn't it? Alfred...Alfred...alfredo!

But he already bought Alfred food, that would be too much. He scowls. Okay, what else does he know about Alfred? Besides the fact that he likes food, is warm, and caring, and sweet, and handsome, and good-looking, and goofy, and an idiot, and morbidly popular, and good-looking. Arthur blushes, fingering the edge of his sweater vest.

Well, first things first, he now has more time to tidy himself up. He knows he's far from handsome, but he can at least look presentable.

Arthur approaches bathroom time with a careful realism. He knows many people that get lost in primping their appearances (coughFranciscough). Usually, they have good reason to do so, being good-looking (cough_not_Franciscough). Arthur, however, knows himself quite well, and knows that there's not much he can do to help his appearance.

His hair is hopelessly scruffy. He looks awful with it long and even worse with it short. He can't style it. There's no gel that mankind has yet been able to create to tame Arthur's wily strands. Basically, he keeps it a medium messy length that sometimes falls in his eyes and _always _sticks up in the back. And the top. And the sides.

Arthur averts his eyes from the mirror then. Of course, that's not the worst part. Anybody who knows him or perhaps anybody that has ever heard is name is familiar with this equation: Arthur Kirkland= Giant eyebrows. He remembers being teased so much one time in primary that he went home determined to find a solution. Obviously, he'd inherited some genetic defect that made him unappealing to everybody ever. His "solution" lay in his mum's makeup box where he proceeded to try and cover his whole forehead with liquid base. As you can imagine, it did not go as planned. From then on, he's been ruefully stubborn about them and most people just pass if off as him being a grouch.

Under the odd bathroom light, his pale skin looks almost blue. Even though he had gotten a good night's sleep before, it doesn't really show under his eyes where torturous black circles still remain. Getting tan doesn't exactly work for him. He's gotten many varying degrees of sunburns and peppered his nose with sprays of freckles, but never a tan. Plus, he loathes heat and altogether finds the indoors to be a much more pleasant environment.

Arthur swallows. He could go on, but it's best if he stops his train of thought there. Deciding he doesn't like the color of today's sweater vest, he heads back to his room to procure a new one. His cell phone is lit up on the dresser. Shelly.

He takes it with him, absently reading her text as he unbuttons his collared shirt.

-_R u busy today? We were going to head down to the shoreline and mess around. Think you could come?-_

Arthur sends back with a certain amount of pleasure. -_Sorry I'm spending time with Alfred.-_

_ -Alfred? Jones? Like the chef at the culinary school the other day?-_

Arthur smirks. -_Yes.-_

_ -Damn! Arthur! That's awesome! He was super cute! Do you think he likes you?-_

_ -Well, he did ask me out. So I think it's safe to say-_

_ -Arrrthuurrr! Y didn't you tell me earlier? Tht is so so cute! I NEED details.-_

Arthur chuckles slightly, shuffling his socked foot on the ground in embarrassment. They're good enough friends that he can imagine her facial expressions. -_Later, I promise. I actually have a serious question for you.-_

_ -Go for it.-_

_ -I want to do something nice for him, but I have no idea what. Any suggestions?-_

_ -Where are you now?-_

_ -In my dorm. He'll be meeting me here later... why?-_

_ -God, Arthur, isn't it kind of obvious? You're meeting in your dorm! What do you think he wants to do?-_

Arthur frowns in confusion. What could she possibly mean? _-I don't follow-_

_ -Do you ever? Srsly. Maybe you should thnk along the lines of what ppl who potentially like each other get up to in rooms alone.-_

Arthur gawks at his phone for a minute before carefully setting it down. Now, that's... that's definitely something. He can't say he hasn't thought about it _at all. _Just, well, currently, he's working on getting Alfred to like him. He doesn't want to accidentally mess it up by suggesting something stupid. What if it turns Alfred off? Maybe Alfred wants to wait for awhile. It is kind of fast.

He worries his lower lip. It would have been easier last night. Maybe under the influence of a little alcohol. If his weak stomach had held up, he might have gotten exactly that. Shelly has put the seed in his mind.

A couple minutes later, there's a knock and Alfred comes skipping through the door eagerly. He holds up a handful of Redbox DVDs, looking proud of himself.

"Latest releases," he explains to Arthur, leaning over to pull out his roommate's Xbox and get them set up. "We're ready for the rest of the day!"

Alfred tips the contents of his pockets out all over Arthur's desk. Popcorn bags and boxes of sour candy, chocolate pretzels. "Man, that was SO lame! He totally chewed our asses off! I never wanted to get out of there so bad."

Arthur swallows nervously, eyeing the mound of junk food.

Alfred doesn't seem to notice, discovering his Chinese in the fridge and setting to work. "You got me a smoothie too? You're the best, Artie!"

"Anything for you," Arthur says with a hint of sarcasm, but only a hint.

Alfred beams back, throwing his box in the microwave. "Come here." He holds out his arms. Arthur makes a show of rolling his eyes, but his feet bring him forward nonetheless. Alfred's hands wrap around, one at the back of his head and the other at the base of his spine. "Man, this is so..." Alfred breathes out happily. "Awesome."

"Is it?" Arthur murmurs, slowly bringing his arms up to wrap around Alfred. He smells nice now. He must have changed before he came back. Arthur can feel his back muscles through his Cougars t-shirt.

"Of course," Alfred teases warmly. "I get to be with you all day. We can do anything we want to."

Arthur's heart begins to thud a bit faster. He blushes. Alfred is so ridiculously sentimental. "What if I turn out to be boring?" He can't help but say it.

Alfred snorts. "You? Never. If anything, you hold back. You hide your awesomeness."

Arthur snorts this time. All the same... in an Alfred way, it is rather sweet. "You know... you know what I want to do, Alfred?"

"What?" Alfred lets go of him to fish his food from the microwave. He plops backwards, swirling up noodles onto his fork with raised eyebrows.

Arthur means to do this in a suave way, but he already knows that it isn't going to work out like that. He runs his fingers through his hair nervously, going to open the drawer of his bedside table.

"OOOoooh."

Arthur jumps, glancing upwards anxiously at Alfred who grins.

"I see where you're going with this." Alfred begins to wolf down his food at a disgusting rate. "Let me finish this first."

Arthur blinks, unwilling to believe it. His life is too full of misunderstandings for Alfred to actually know what he wants to do. "You do?"

"I do." Alfred swallows roughly, taking a giant swig of his smoothie. "I keep my condoms in that drawer too." He pauses to flash such a sultry grin that Arthur is surprised. Here Alfred seemed so _good. _

"Catcher or pitcher?" Alfred demands and he's practically bouncing up and down as he eats. The excitement glimmers devilishly in his blue eyes making Arthur's heart beat faster. "I could go either, but I'm in the mood to top, if that's alright."

"No... that's... I-I usually bottom." Arthur blushes, still in shock that Alfred is so eager. "You... you want to sleep with me?"

"Since I saw you." Alfred laughs. "Sorry, if I'm such a slut. I swear I haven't slept with anyone since high school. When I saw you, that's just kinda where my thoughts went if I'm being honest."

"O-oh," Arthur doesn't know where to place himself.

Alfred finishes his food at record speed. Instantly, he reaches for Arthur, standing at first. "We do move kinda fast, don't we?" He jokes, holding Arthur to him, his eyes soft. "I haven't even kissed you yet."

Arthur gulps, suddenly realizing what Alfred is going to do. Alfred brushes back a few strands of Arthur's hair. He lets his fingers drift downward to catch under Arthur's chin, very carefully tipping it up. Alfred hesitates for just a moment, before he leans forward. His soft lips meet Arthur's tasting like soy sauce and General Tso's.

It's amazing. The feeling doesn't stop at Arthur's mouth, but travels down to burn at his heart, make the hair on his arms stand up. It tingles at his spine and rests suddenly heavy in his boxers. His breath catches when Alfred pulls back and he leans forward quickly unwilling to break it.

Alfred laughs into Arthur's lips, causing him to kiss and smile at the same time. A breathless joy flows through him, at the way he can feel Alfred's arms cradling him and Alfred's excitement. Alfred pressing his crotch forward.

They break apart this time. Arthur reaches for the drawer, fumbling eagerly. Alfred is shrugging out of his shirt, humming some tune or other.

When Arthur has the condom from the box, he mounts the bed over Alfred who has flopped onto his back. "What are you doing, silly?" he murmurs. "I'm bottoming remember." He holds up the condom. "Don't you need this? Hey... What's that you've got?" Alfred has his face turned away, hands covering his chin. Arthur starts to grin. He reaches forward to pull Alfred's hands away, groaning in exasperation. "Can't you eat that later?"

Alfred's face is covered with cookie crumbs. He furrows his brow defensively. "I saw them over your shoulder. I wanted some." He looks so cute like that. Hair mussed, face smeared with chocolate. Arthur has to laugh.

"Well, I got them for you, dolt."

Alfred's eyebrows raise. "Oh," he swallows. "Thanks."

Arthur shakes his head. "You're going to make me wait now, aren't you?"

"Well..." Alfred cranes his neck. "There's some more, isn't there?"

Arthur reaches over him to grab them, seating himself comfortably on Alfred's chest. He hands them over, rubbing at Alfred's hair fondly. Alfred pauses, tipping his chin up for a kiss. Arthur meets him there and he hears Alfred say lower than a whisper some words perhaps not meant for Arthur's ears. "Damn, I think I love you."

* * *

><p><strong>For future reference, how many of you are okay with somewhat explicit sex scenes? It depends on whether I keep my teen rating or not. <strong>

**Here's looking to the holidays! AND CHRISTMAS COOKIES. I'm with Alfred at this point. Much love, doze.**


	5. Wanted: Equilibrium

**So I missed a week. :( Sorry guys. But I'm totally back on track now. I've even started chapter 6. This last week has been a whirlwind. I've had to take two midterms early, apply to more colleges (lame :P) and all with the added distraction of my latest money blow on a PS Vita game system. I'm really channeling Alfred at this point. ;)**

**Beyond the boringness that is my life, this chapter deserves a warning... though, I'm not sure exactly what for. Too much gravity? **

* * *

><p>"I'm ready."<p>

Alfred's lopsided grin makes its reappearance darkened by a couple spots of chocolate in his teeth. Even so, Arthur can't find it in him to think of Alfred as anything less than really bloody attractive. Alfred seems to know this. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I believe we were in the middle of something." He attempts to say coyly.

Arthur snorts. From his perch atop Alfred's chest, he can't help feeling a little bit like royalty. "Yes, I remember. You were my slave."

Alfred's nose wrinkles. "Come on, Arthur. Anything but that fantasy. You could be a little more creative."

Arthur rolls his eyes. Catching jokes is not Alfred's strong suit. He has all the subtlety of a brick. "Oh? And what's your wonderful idea?"

"You can be an alien on Mars and I could stumble into you with my rocket ship." Alfred takes a moment to wink in an exaggerated motion. "Or... You could be King Kong and I'll be the building!"

Arthur shudders, placing his hand forcefully over Alfred's mouth. There'll be none of that ever if he has any say. "Stop it this moment, Alfred. You are forbidden from coming up with fantasies." He feels the corners of Alfred's lips pull down in a pout beneath his fingertips. He has to work a bit harder to retain his passive expression. Alfred looks so ludicrously disappointed. Feeling the soft edge of Alfred's cheek, Arthur looks up through his lashes seriously. "As things are, I'd much rather just be us right now."

Alfred's eyebrows lift. He pulls Arthur's hands down from his face so that Arthur can see his brilliant smile. "Yeah, me too. Just us."

He reaches for Arthur's chin, pulling him gently down into a long slow kiss. Arthur lets his fingers tangle in Alfred's golden strands, feeling his heart start to pick up. "Mmmm..." Alfred murmurs, removing his hands from Arthur's waist to point randomly. "Condom."

Arthur leans up over him, jerking the drawer open and coming back with the familiar square. Alfred takes it, grinning in a predatory way. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to sentence you to the bottom from now on, Mr. Kirkland. Give up your throne."

Arthur heaves a pretend groan. "Must I?"

Before he can even think, Alfred grabs him around the middle flipping him to his back. Arthur lets out an ungraceful yelp, causing Alfred to giggle. His nose scrunches mirthfully. Catching Arthur's sour look, he shakes his head. "You're funny."

Before he can retort, Alfred accommodates him, wiggling his fingers behind Arthur's head so that he can cradle it. Alfred starts to kiss along Arthur's jaw line, almost seeming to rumble as he does it. An odd thought causes Arthur's lips to quirk. It's like a lion's purr.

"You have been dethroned." Alfred pronounces royally, pecking him on the mouth. "Don't worry. I still love you and your peasant self."

Arthur's breath hitches. Love?

Alfred doesn't notice though, returning to his leisurely way of romancing. At his touch, Arthur only closes his eyes. He knows he's not being a very attentive partner, but under the influence of Alfred's affection it's too difficult not to melt. His arms hang loosely around Alfred's waist. Chin tilted upwards. He's certain that he must have the most ridiculous 'come hither' expression. Luckily, Alfred is too busy to really see. Arthur sprawls lazily and allows Alfred his way. Alfred initiates and he accepts.

Alfred doesn't make a fuss about his utter bonelessness like he expects. He seems to enjoy discovering Arthur's sensitive spots, the ones that make him gasp or moan. The pattern develops slowly with Alfred pausing at each particular spot. The warmth of his breath and the ghost of his tongue tickle along with all the intent of sending Arthur's emotions flaring. Then, Alfred does something that surprises him.

It's less of a hug and more of a nuzzle and something so fundamentally Alfred that, though it takes Arthur by surprise, is all the more welcomed. Alfred half bear hugs him, cupping Arthur's head under his chin. There's really nothing sexual about it. He does it quickly like he's been building up to it and he's nervous for the outcome.

The goofy half hug starts Alfred laughing. Alfred breathes in the smell of Arthur's shampoo and feels the tickle of his pale gold hair. He harrumphs happily and falls backwards.

Just as suddenly as Arthur was on the bottom, he's on the top. Alfred holds him in an embrace like a teddy bear, and he's not entirely sure how to feel about it.

"Alfred?" He says finally. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready."

"Ready for what?"

"This." Alfred laughs. "Everything... You."

Arthur blushes. "Wh-what?"

"Nothing, nothing... I just..." He laughs again. "I really want to be here right now. You know that feeling you get where you just... know you're in the right place?"

Arthur says nothing, listening to Alfred's fast breathing.

Alfred chuckles. He sits up, letting Arthur fall onto his back. "I'll get on with it. Enough of my philosophizing, sealing the moment garbage. What can I say? My brother loves Nicholas Sparks."

He wiggles out of his shirt, ripping open the condom package with his teeth. After a moment of deliberation, Alfred sets the condom aside. He reaches for Arthur pulling him into a sitting position. They kiss again and it brings Arthur's scattered thoughts back together. Particularly, to rest on the fact that his arousal hadn't gone away.

Alfred's fingers start to work underneath his shirt, even as Arthur gladly runs his fingers down the length of Alfred's back. When he presses, he can feel the corded muscles. If he lets his hands slip lower near Alfred's hips, Alfred is softer and more vulnerable. Arthur almost grins thinking of Lizzy's past words. "_ "I don't know how they're not thirty pounds heavier." _Even these thoughts are with a burning affection. At the moment, he thinks he could like anything about Alfred.

Then Alfred stops.

At first, Arthur thinks it's another one of his goofy serenades and groans. It'll take awhile to get used to all these grand romantic gestures, certainly. He pulls back raising his eyebrows at Alfred, allowing more than a little impatience to settle in his posture. But Alfred isn't looking at his face.

He has Arthur's sweater vest pushed gently upwards so that it just covers his nipples. His other hand cups at Arthur's side, looking quite large as he easily palms around it. He moves his thumb back and forth over one of Arthur's ribs. Arthur frowns and for just a second, he doesn't understand. He forgets. His thick brows furrow in confusion, green eyes tentatively uncertain. Is there something wrong with him?

Alfred drops his hand from Arthur's side to rest it softly in the hollow of his belly.

Then, he remembers. Alfred doesn't see what he sees.

Arthur jerks back, feeling suddenly caught when Alfred's hand remains taut around his shirt. "Alfred!" he spits.

Alfred looks up, blue eyes full of confusion. His hand slips and Arthur gets away.

Arthur doesn't know what to do with himself, tugging his shirt down violently. His face is burning beyond belief. He scrambles until his back hits the vanity and he stays there, scowling.

"Arthur..." Alfred finally begins slowly. It's torture waiting for him to get all the words out. He picks at the sheets with long tan fingers. "Why... why are you so thin?"

Lies blur through his mind with such rapid speed that he doesn't have time to land on any one of them. Alfred looks so stupid sitting there with his mouth open like that. What does he know about anything? "That's rich coming from you," He snarls. "Why are you so fat?"

It's the first thing that comes to his mind. He instantly feels horrible about it. He doesn't think Alfred is fat. Alfred is perfect. Alfred can eat whatever he wants.

Alfred's mouth drops further and color rises to his tanned cheeks. "Come on, Arthur," he says angrily. "I'm not stupid. I knew you were skinny, but Jesus Christ. Your ribs stick out!"

"You're not stupid? That's news to me. People only like you because you're a giant idiotic loudmouth that makes them feel better about their own mediocre intelligence. You didn't notice?" Arthur sneers, his heart galloping. He's diverting. It's such a panicked attempt that he's sure it won't work.

Alfred swallows. "Arthur... I'm not trying to-"

"I'm fine, Alfred!" Arthur blows up. "Even if there was something wrong, you would never be able to help. You're an utter invalid. I wouldn't ask you to help me tie my shoe."

Alfred flinches, genuine hurt crossing his features. He stumbles for a second, frowning. "If you thought that, why did you go out with me?"

"I didn't have the heart to turn down the boy who hasn't had a lay since high school." He growls. "There. Happy? I've pitied you. You can get the hell out." Arthur is breathing hard. His hands are clenched into fists behind him. This is what happens. This is what happens when he forgets himself and loses control of a situation. People end up asking questions.

Alfred stands, beginning to look angry. "You're shitting me. You've got to be shitting me right now. I show one iota of concern for your well being and you freak the fuck out! Fucking shit, Arthur! No one else is around to ask!"

"I don't need anyone to ask! Especially not you, with all the finesse of a blind elephant. Get out." Arthur snaps. "Go back to your parties and your friends and your fan club. I don't think I can stand one more second basking in the rays of your utter incompetence."

"Fine." Alfred throws his hands up. "Fine. Be that way. I tried to be nice to you. I'll get my whale sized ass out of your face. You obviously have everything figured out." He grabs his shirt and sends him a salute at the door. "Sorry for over staying my welcome, King Arthur. I'll make sure to never care again."

Alfred slams the door in a temper. He's easily worked up. It's something Arthur guessed about him. He knows it was the fastest way to get Alfred out, but all the same his heart plummets when the dust settles.

He straightens up, smoothing his shirt. For a minute, none of his emotion shows on his face. His fingers become fascinated with straightening the stacks of his textbooks. A swipe of his hand brings back a print of gray dust. Arthur clucks his tongue distastefully, heading to fetch a tissue. Once his finger is clean, he persists in dusting down the rest of the desk. His footsteps wander to his roommate's side, make his bed, straighten his books.

The silence around Arthur is broken only by the hum of the heater vent. He steps forward to rid himself of a dusty tissue and notices the opened, but unused condom on the ground. He doesn't want to think about where he went wrong. Obviously at the point where he thought he would ever be able to have sex with Alfred. Arthur swallows tersely, bending to crush the condom in his fist and toss it in the waste bin.

Looking around the empty room, his eyes fall on Alfred's pile of junk food. A sneer curls his lip, but at the same time his vision starts to blur. Arthur turns on his heel, grabbing the waste bin and begins fanatically shoving all of the packages in, like he is damning his enemies to hell. When the bin is full, his hands shake. He loses his temper and throws it against the wall.

"Fuck, Alfred!" He shouts in exasperation, almost laughing at his own stupidity, though it's hardly funny. "You blasted nosy i-idiot."

When his voice catches, he knows it's no use. Arthur collapses on the ground with a rough sigh, grounding his fists into his eyes. Like he can press the tears back into his head, his brain, that dark corner he likes to keep dark things in.

If he had just thought of this beforehand, Alfred would still be here. They could be watching movies. But he had to let his desire get the better of him. Goddamn, he didn't even think. Of what Alfred would see. Blind Alfred, just like the rest of them. Missing the point.

Arthur threads his fingers through his hair, tugging viciously. It's probably better that this happened when it did. Though Arthur's hopes were high, he foresees them being much higher in the future. The crush would have been more devastating.

He tries to use that to lighten his mood, but it doesn't help. He _knows _that if he had just used his fucking mind he could have avoided the whole catastrophe in the first place. It was his idea. Carefully, he wraps his arms around his middle, feeling sick.

All he can see is the look on Alfred's face, like Alfred spoke his thoughts aloud. Alfred doesn't want to sleep with him.

Slowly, Arthur gets to his feet. He begins struggling out of his shirt, his trousers too. A few minutes later he's dressed in a baggy t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts that he has to tie rather tightly to stay on. He gets his trainers, fumbling multiple times to get the laces right. He jogs down his dorm hall, down the stairs.

Once he gets outside, he's racing. The burn in his legs is immediate. It starts before he even makes it out of the building, but he feels relief as the burn pulls his thoughts away from Alfred. It's leadening and it hurts, but he needs it. He can make his body obey him. This he can control. Any extra calories from that pastry the other day are ticking away in Arthur's mind. It gives him a delirious sense of satisfaction.

He can forget about Alfred. Alfred would never want him, anyway.

0 0 0

"Hi Arthur," Shelly smiles brightly at him as she takes her usual seat in their French history class. The room sparkles dimly with gray Seattle light and Shelly's hair glimmers particularly warm and chocolatey against it. Arthur watches her fish around in her bag for a moment. There's still ten or so minutes before class starts. Once it gets nearer Francis will arrive to bother him and distract her. Right now, she holds out her assignment to him, hoping to get a comparison on his answers. Their professor encourages this kind of intellectual banter.

"Hi Shelly," He murmurs, leaning down to grab at his bookbag. He grits his teeth as his back muscles contract agonizingly. Walking today had been a giant pain. He'd had to stop and sit at a park bench to catch his breath. Getting to lean back in the cushioned auditorium chairs had been a glorious relief until she showed up. Silly girl. Always unwittingly causing him problems.

He hands over his assignment, trying not to betray any of his discomfort.

But she grins. "Work out too hard?" She's teasing. They both are more of the casual college goers who get peer pressured into using the weight room. Or at least she is, but he enjoys having someone to talk to.

"Perhaps," Arthur allows her a small smile. He settles back into his seat gratefully. For a minute, he concentrates on relaxing. His muscles seem perfectly spiteful when they continue to cramp. To make sure, she doesn't start asking questions, he heads her off. "How was the ocean?"

"Green. Like everything." She shakes her head. "Wish you could have come. You would have listened to my crazy roommate stories. Everyone else just wanted to build bonfires and smoke pot."

Arthur snorts dryly. "Part of living in Washington, I suppose."

Shelly laughs again. "Studying abroad is the best and worst decision I've ever made."

Arthur nods, feeling like he couldn't possibly agree more.

"Hey..." Shelly suddenly smirks. Her chocolate eyes start to sparkle. He opens his mouth to quickly ask her another question, but this time she heads him off. "So, how'd it go?"

Arthur scowls and her smirk widens. She's getting to know him too well. He immediately knows what she's talking about, but because he enjoys being difficult growls, "How did what go?"

"You know," Shelly groans. "Hunky culinary student with the tan! Come on! Arthur, you can't be serious. What else would I be asking about? Your collection of 19th century doorknobs?"

"18th century," he says snobbishly. He considers going on a two hour discourse on the different styles of metal work, but her eyes are too focused. She won't drop it. She's too persistent for that. Arthur puts on a regretful air. "Alfred's not my type."

Shelly's thin eyebrows disappear in her flyaway bangs. "Uh... really? You seemed pretty psyched about it earlier." She states suspiciously.

"Jumped the gun," He shrugs with a gusty sigh. "I put too much hope into it, I guess. There was really no rhyme or reason. I'm sometimes silly like that."

Shelly doesn't look entirely convinced and obviously wants to ask more questions. But no sooner has Francis walked through the door in nearly late fashion than the professor opens up for his lecture.

Arthur for once is grateful for French history as it provides him a chance to focus on something else. He buries his nose in the text, intent to line out the dates and political context of the particular time period. He traces out a complex outline in his notes, jotting down not only the important information, but facts that interest him. He finds that this generally helps with the picking of paper topics later on in the year.

The only mar on the perfect academic atmosphere (well other than the Frenchiness) is that he can feel Shelly continue to watch him. Really, and she wonders why she has a hard time in classes. Her mind is full of bloody delusions. He looks over at her and raises an eyebrow, intent to cut any rumors off at their source. She gives him a half-hearted smile, that practically promises she will be needing to see his notes later. He shakes his head in exasperation.

Eventually, she turns her attention back to the professor. Seeing Arthur act so Arthur-like is only a reassurance. Arthur breathes a sigh to himself, only to find that the notes before him are no longer holding his interest like before. His concentration seems blotchy. He still feels exhausted from the other day. In his head, he knows he took the running thing a bit far. He's never run for two straight hours before and never... well... never with nothing in his system. He fidgets with his pencil.

An image of Alfred's wide-eyed confusion as he holds Arthur's shirt up replaces the illustration of Louis XIX's court in his textbook. _Why are you so thin?_

Arthur swallows hard. He sort of wishes he hadn't reacted so harshly. Now... there's just not much chance of him ever seeing Alfred again. The thought brings a lump to his throat that horrifies him. He had thought he had got all the tears out last night. Yet here he is tearing up over the French Revolution and Francis is shooting him looks. Arthur swears to god if the class doesn't end soon he will bloody beat the retarded frog for thinking he'd get so worked up over a guillotine in dusty pages.

When the professor releases them, Arthur doesn't stay to ask questions. He stumbles to his feet, ignoring the black blotches though they make him pause as they flash over his vision. Once they're gone, he shoulders his bag and flees with his head low. He makes it about halfway down the stairs leaning heavily against the railing when Shelly waylays him. Damn her.

"Arthur! Wait!" She catches up with him like he's going slow. He scowls wondering when his skills of determining speed had deserted him. He's sure breathing like he's going fast.

"What Shelly?" He snaps at her, causing her to pause. He prays that she'll leave him alone to be grouchy. She's known to do that every once in awhile. Peppy girl like her needed peppy friends anyway. Not grouchy stodgers like him.

Same with Alfred. There must be something wrong with him if he's so intent to surround himself with such happy people, Arthur thinks in exasperation. Really, they're nothing like him. He should definitely seek out some equilibrium in his friendships from now on.

"Arthur, what's the matter?" She asks flat out, drawing him back from his thoughts with a jerk.

When she reaches out to put a hand on him, he shrugs it off irritably. She has her suspicions, but he is in no mood to accept her sympathy right now... her pity, actually. He groans, merely walking a bit faster. "There's nothing the matter, Shelly. I'm sore from running. I've got a headache. All around I feel like shit. Is that enough for you?"

Shelly lips twitch downwards in that thoughtful way. She tries to read him, but his green eyes are chillingly blank. "Did Alfred break it off with you?"

Arthur's expression remains neutral, but inwardly he sneers. Of course, she would assume that_ Alfred_ broke it off. "It just didn't work okay. I wanted it to work," he says that with some measure of reluctance. Anything close to the truth is something he'd rather avoid, even if it burns at his throat at times demanding to be released. Arthur is determined that the only audience that receives it will be his pillow at night. "It didn't work," He continues forcefully, focusing on how annoyed he is, how in pain, how frustrated. "I apologize if you were expecting some grand fiasco. Alfred is not compatible with me. I don't regret it." His voice lowers just slightly, in a warning, one that she rams right over.

"Arthur..." She groans. "There's something you're not telling me, and it's _really _annoying."

He nearly laughs. Oh, it's annoying her, is it? Arthur throws his self control in the trash. "You're right," He snarls, voice ringing with discordant sarcasm. A delicious sense of satisfaction sends his heart pounding at her startled look. "There's something I'm not telling you. In fact, there's many things that I don't tell you. How could that possibly be? Let's use those critical thinking skills. I know there's a smart girl in there somewhere, even if she persistently coasts off of me in every class we have together. Struggling? Well, why don't I just give you the answer like always? It's all I'm good for in your mind. Let's see. What are some logical reasons Arthur wouldn't spill his guts to such an airheaded ninny? I think personal privacy is a decent answer. Very obvious, but I'm willing to give you a handicap pass, if only because you never think that far."

"Stop it, Arthur," She looks disgusted, also shocked, but mainly disgusted. "I'm only trying to help." The expression brings him some kind of justification. There, now she sees it. Now, she sees him. Now, she can leave him alone. To _hell _with helping him. He doesn't need help. They've about reached Myers Hall by this point.

Though she doesn't say anything the rest of the way, her presence is irksome to him, like an itch he can't reach. He knows that if she even breathes the wrong way he'll explode and the lack of control associated is making him antsy.

A warm rush of air greets him along with the cloying, sickening smell of a bustling lunch hall when they enter. She immediately deserts him to seek other company. He watches her stiff back disappear into the crowd with a sneer. That's right. Leave, he thinks. That's just what he wanted anyway.

Standing alone in the crowd, the smells and the crush of bodies start to overwhelm him. His already pounding headache reaches a climax and he stumbles urgently for a table, knowing that if he doesn't put his head down and now, he will collapse. The greasy plastic meets his cheek, his bag cluttering to the ground and spilling all his books. Arthur is having a hard time breathing. The whole place smells like the inside of a garbage bin. The heat from the various stovetops crowds in on him, crushes him. He closes his eyes.

He wants to just die right now. Really he does. It's admittedly a low point, but he's falling asleep right here in the fucking dining hall and it's such a blessing to get away.

"Arthur, there you are! This is not our usual table!"

Arthur groans, slamming his fist into the tabletop. Goddamn, this professor is his personal hell. He takes a huge breath and with what he deems incredible restraint draws himself into a sitting position.

Germaine simply quirks a smile. "Bad breakup?"

He's only kidding, but it's nearly enough to send Arthur over the edge and punching his stupid face off.

"Tired." He offers ineloquently, not trusting himself to say more.

"I'll get us our food then." The professor says it to be kind, but Arthur is only grateful for the fact that he can slump back over when the man is gone. He wonders idly what Alfred is doing right now. Probably getting lunch with a crowd of raucous people, the kind of people that make Arthur sick in the first place. He should be glad he doesn't have to deal with those kinds of annoyances anymore. With Alfred, they would surely never cease.

When Professor Germaine courteously sets a burger and chips before him, all he can do is stare. Usually, he can muster a few bites. Sometimes, he can finish a whole plate. (Of course, it then more often than not ends up in his toilet drain.) Today, his stomach rolls with force, and he realizes he can't do it. Not even one bite. He can't.

Truthfully, he's been sickened by himself for a very long time. Even he can't explain why exactly it comes down to this. But he can't eat it. The word 'can't' echoes in his brain like an alarm. It locks him up, makes him stiff. His already harrowed system goes on full alert. Any prodding and he will lash out.

Professor Germaine watches him. "Eat, Arthur. No theatrics today."

The gall, Arthur's lip curls into a sneer. He wants to see theatrics, does he?Without the least consideration for future consequences, Arthur releases his last bit of hold on his substantial temper. In his arrogance the other day, he had utilized (_controlled_) Alfred's temper to his own benefit (_disaster?_).

Arthur in his own right, however, is very much aware that his temper burns that much hotter. As if to fuel him on, his thoughts echo with the memory of Alfred slamming the door, like it was both forever ago and earlier the other day. Arthur stands, flipping his hand upward in time with the sound and sending his plate flying. He'll show Germaine theatrics.

"I don't need your help! I don't need help!" He bursts out. "You nosy old bastard! What makes you think this could help?" There are several people watching, but he doesn't care. He reaches to grab his backpack only to feel the full weight of it and give it up as a lost cause. He's pretty sure his dramatic exit will never be as vicious as Alfred's. Germaine doesn't actually _care _ about him. It won't stab his heart or wrench his gut. He might be able to manage majestic, disdainful, sweeping from the room in rancorous hostility. But his head still spins. Seeing Professor Germaine's frown throws him off. In his panic, he stumbles for the lifts, slamming the button with his fist. The professor does not call him back.

As soon as the doors close and he's alone, the building bubble in his chest bursts. Last night's tears pool and puddle in his eyes. They're last night's tears because they were supposed to be confined to last night. He refuses to admit he's lost control enough to let them appear now. Oh how he mourns the utter loss of decorum. "I have fallen from grace," he says aloud, trying to makes himself laugh. It fails miserably.

His breathing hiccups. He feels like suck a weakling. When had he started to become _dependent _on Alfred's carefree tomfoolery? His knees tremble and he allows them to give, sinking to the floor. Arthur chides himself mentally. He's always taken things much too seriously. He's acting like promises of a person he met a week ago could possibly be kept, let alone _meant_.

Arthur hugs his knees to his chest, gasping. When the doors open again, he forces himself to stand, though every muscle in his body protests. He needs to lay down. God, he can't function right now.

Arthur gets to his room, stumbling for the bed. He barely makes it before he passes out.

The last damn thing he thinks is how twin beds can be particularly big and lonely places without someone else around to fill the empty spaces. Pulling at his particularly baggy button up, he scoots to the very edge, vision smudging with black. His fingers trace circles against one of his ribs. Alfred should have been happy, he thinks. There's plenty of room for him this way.

Arthur swallows, eyes itching, turning his face into his pillow. There's plenty of room for him here.

* * *

><p><strong>As an added note, I totally forgot to mention up there. THANKS TO ALL MY REVIEWERS! Your persistence in reading my garble whether follower, favoriter or reviewer always astounds me. THANK YOU! <strong>

**Also, I feel that a slight apology is in order. I kind of one eightied you guys on that explicit question... I wouldn't give up hope just yet. I'm a realist and what happened had to happen. **


	6. Here Comes The--

**For anybody who was wondering: I UPDATE ON FRIDAY EVENINGS WEEKLY. All the same... thank you overeager anons. :P**

**Approach this chapter with caution. Nothing graphic, but a warning all the same. There are several things I would like to add to my litany of assurances so that all readers are clear with me to the end. :)**

**1. Whatever it may look like, I am not disrespecting medical professionals. They play an important part later in the story. I'm merely writing the characters as I imagine they would react in certain situations.**

**2. I'm going to put this bluntly: When you have an eating disorder, you lie. Expecting Arthur to be truthful isn't realistic and expecting everyone _all the time_ to catch that he is lying also isn't realistic. That people suspect happens, what they do with that knowledge brings me to my third point...**

**3. Characters don't always make the right decisions. (yeah, yeah I know, obvious) But I'm adding that in, because well-meaning characters (cough_Alfred_cough) are characters too, with concerns about looking stupid and being wrong. When you're dating someone for the first time, you want to come across a certain way. I'm sure you can relate. Perhaps that means _liked_ over actually _helpful_? I try to capture that in Alfred's early decisions regarding Arthur.**

**That's about all. Some of my story nuances are subtle. I just didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. Thanks so much! -doze**

**Also CLARIFICATION about American college: _If you live in America, you probably don't need to read this._ **Most colleges require you to pick a major (ie area of study) by the end of sophomore (2nd) year. There are four years in college, generally. The first two are spent doing general ed and the next are usually specializing in your subject. I know that it's different from UK universities as well as universities in other countries. Arthur is a junior (3rd year) in college. He is majoring in history. He has one year left after the current one. Alfred is in an untraditional school. He is not in college. He attends a culinary school that educates for three years. He is in his final year. After that, he will graduate and seek employment at a restaurant.

* * *

><p>Arthur wakes to the steady sound of rain showers. His hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat and the room is unbearably freezing. He wrestles with the covers for a minute before collapsing back, winded. Across the room, his roommate is breathing loudly, openmouthed and half snoring.<p>

Even though his headache still throbs, he now feels wide awake. It's not as late as it seems amidst the darkness of the storm. The alarm clock, now jauntily perched in its proper place, informs him that it is 5 AM. Arthur sighs. He slept through one of his classes yesterday, and he didn't even begin on the homework from the first. After collapsing from his little tirade in the dining hall, he'd only woken once or twice. Even then, he had just rolled over and called it up for bollocks.

It's Wednesday. As soon as the thought enters his mind, all he wants to do is sleep. God, it's Wednesday. He has Professor Germaine's class today. He doesn't think he can maturely face a professor that he splattered with hamburger meat and chips. Arthur groans, burrowing his face into his pillow.

He's still in his clothes from the other day and feeling stale for it. He's about to just call it a day and never open his eyes again. The soft rushing of the rain is soothing. It reminds him of England. Secretly, he knows that's why he chose Seattle over any other place he could have studied abroad. There is at least something to remind him of home when he is feeling down. Not that he isn't grateful. He's out of his parents' nosy household and has been for awhile.

Arthur listens to the deep roll of thunder, appreciating it for its muted rumble. Not too loud. He's thankful that the universe seems to be accommodating him for the time being.

Several hours later, Arthur forces himself up with his roommate. They don't really speak, having found by now that neither is really a morning person. Their mutual agreement keeps Arthur's headache from worsening. He downs some ibuprofen in the hopes that it'll fade back behind his eyes. Currently, he feels as if his whole head is pulsing.

As Arthur enters the bathroom for his turn, he hears his roommate open the front door to leave for work. There's a minute of silence. Arthur doesn't hear his retreating footsteps.

"Arthur, your bag's out here." He says, but he seems to have hesitated a long time just to come to that conclusion.

"Drag it in, will you?" Arthur growls, cupping his hands with warm water and splashing it over his cheeks.

He hears the sound of his bag being dragged and then silence. Arthur wonders why his roommate is still hanging around.

"You're going to be late for work," Arthur prods, seeking to be alone.

"Alright, alright, I'm going." He hears the mumbled reply. "Take care of yourself, man."

Arthur frowns when the door thuds shut. That's an odd parting. They usually don't even speak. After he gets changed into a fresh set of clothes, he heads to his bed to contemplate the problem before him. He supposes he'll have to go to Professor Germaine's class. There's not really much of another option. Arthur hopes that he can just slip into the back and be done with it, but it's a relatively small class. He's bound to be noticed.

He gives his bag a moody kick and something yellow tumbles off of it. Frowning, Arthur bends to grab the slip of paper. At first, he doesn't understand it. Today's date is written at the top along with the time of ten thirty. A loopy swirly signature and peppy smiley face glisten in purple ink at the bottom. He doesn't recognize the name. A small note written in the same hand adorns the back.

_Hello Mr. Kirkland,_

_This is Nurse Shanemeyer. I'll be stopping by your room later next morning to do a couple checkups as I've been informed that you haven't been feeling well. Please be in your dorm room at the time below as I have to check on another student in your hall at that time. Hopefully, we can get you right back on your feet. _

Arthur feels like his stomach has dropped out of his body. He clenches the yellow slip in his fist, furious. Professor Germaine was true to his word.

Without stopping to think, he shoves on his loafers and grabs his coat. Like hell he'll be in his room at ten thirty. See how she takes that, ignorant twat. Arthur can feel himself shaking as he charges out of his dorm like a wrathful spirit.

The breeze hits him like ice. He is so frazzled that he forgets to throw up his hood when he gets out in the rain. He doesn't even notice as the water soaks his hair and streams down his neck. His heart burns with an inexplicable desire to get away. There's no one around that understands.

Alfred… Alfred is gone.

Arthur scowls as the idiot pops into his head uninvited. It's undeniable how awful he still feels and he just can't get rid of it. Arthur's fists clench as he dashes around the corner in blind panic. He'll hide in the library. Just for precaution, he'll avoid his usual spot.

The solace of the musty books and the feeling by the heater vent fill his mind with longing. He could even sleep. God, he wants to go back to sleep. He's so tired. Even after yesterday's record setting seventeen hour nap, he feels like he could sleep for another three days. Of course, it also reminds him how useless and unproductive he is.

Arthur is walking so fast not paying attention that he collides with someone on the pavement.

"Sorry, sorry," he growls, brushing past impatiently as he rights himself. He was nearly knocked off his feet.

"Arthur?"

Arthur jolts, looking back over his shoulder in disbelief. Alfred seems just as surprised to see him. A scowl mars Arthur's features. Honestly, why is he so surprised? The idiot. Their campuses are meters away.

Alfred shifts on his feet and his expression slips from surprised to embarrassed. He switches his umbrella to his other hand—Batman patterned Arthur notes wryly but is too mortified to see any humor in the situation.

"Arthur," Alfred begins again. His voice grates on Arthur's ears. Arthur can't stand to have this conversation so he hurries to interrupt. He's rubbish at nothing more than he's rubbish at apologies.

"I have to be going. I have a class." He lies, already taking off. His heart thunders in his ears as he half-runs to get away from Alfred.

"Arthur, wait!" Alfred jogs to catch him, falling into step by his side.

Arthur sends him a withering look that would have made even the bravest suitor quail. It's somewhat marred by the fact that he's dripping wet. He watches Alfred visibly gather his courage and hold out the umbrella so that it covers Arthur's head.

"You're soaked," he says in exasperated affection.

Arthur scowls harder. He doesn't have time for this. "Well, that isn't going to do much good now." He tries to duck out from under the umbrella, but Alfred darts after him like a stubborn puppy dog.

"Come on, Arthur," he pleads, "I was coming to talk to you anyway. I know we fought the other day, but I thought I could make up for it!"

Arthur gives him an absolutely incredulous stare that has Alfred hurrying to finish, afraid he'll be interrupted. "I mean, I wasn't being very considerate and we both said some dumb things." Alfred laughs nervously, "I had to take some time to get my thoughts together, but I know you didn't mean that stuff. I'm really sorry, and I didn't want to wait a long time and have this fester." He pauses to wrestle in his pocket for a moment, before producing two beat up slips of paper. "Movie? I've got tickets for six o'clock."

Arthur can't bring himself to answer for a minute, utterly floored. Alfred wants to... talk? For some reason, he still can't get past that. Why is Alfred seeking him out? Sure, they fought. But it was more than _fighting. _They'd given up. Arthur had, at least.

Slowly, Arthur shakes his head. "Why... why are you still talking to me?" It's not a graceful way of asking, but Alfred doesn't look hurt or angry, just confused.

"We're dating," he says carefully. "Of course, I'd come apologize." He pauses suddenly, looking mortified. "Wait, we are dating, right? I was pretty sure we were."

"Were." Arthur emphasizes. "We... we fell out yesterday. I thought we were done." His eyes flicker up to Alfred who looks shocked. He slowly lets the hand holding the movie tickets fall to his side.

"What? You want to break up?" Alfred's brow furrows. "We fought. I bothered you. I do that with my brother every day. Do you... do you not want to see me anymore?"

Arthur's breath catches. Alfred is giving him another chance. He feels almost giddy. His pride luckily slaps him into shape before his desperation drives him into something stupid. Today has been such an awful day, but already he can see it being so much better with Alfred.

He's relieved when he doesn't really have to say anything at all. Alfred's discomfort melts away as he watches Arthur shift from foot to foot. "You feel the same way." He laughs. "Duh, I knew you would."

Alfred throws an arm around him like they've known each other forever. Alfred has a way of relating to people like that. "You look exhausted." The protective tone in his voice breaks Arthur's last defenses and he sags into Alfred's side.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, oddly enough because he wants to. "I'm just... I've been so stressed. Please... I didn't mean to yell at you like that."

"I know." Alfred shakes him teasingly. "You sure know how to bite my head off like nobody's business."

Arthur blushes, but Alfred laughs. "It's alright, Arthur. You can yell at me if you need to, if it makes you feel better."

Arthur nearly flinches. Incidentally, it makes him feel worse when he yells at Alfred. "No," he insists, clearing his throat. He will be mature about this. "I know that I overreacted. I didn't have any reason to get so angry with you. I just... I don't like..." He struggles to say what he means. He doesn't like to talk about what he weighs really, but just saying that seems a little impossible.

Luckily, Alfred understands. He bites his lip like he's nervous before saying, "You do eat, don't you, Arthur?"

Arthur swallows, looking down at his feet. The questions, always the questions. "Of course. I've... I've had problems in the past, but I'm working on it. There's nothing to worry about. It's just a sensitive subject."

Alfred doesn't look entirely convinced, but he bobs his head. "Okay," he says. He has decided to accept it. He doesn't believe it, but he accepts it and that's good enough for Arthur.

"I think you need some sleep," Alfred comments perceptively. "Why don't you go back to your dorm? I'll come by later after I finish up some stuff at school."

At the mention of his dorm, all manner of rejection runs through Arthur's posture. He tenses and shakes his head. "I'm going to the library."

Alfred frowns irritably. "Arthur, you're soaked and freezing and you need sleep. You need to-"

"No," Arthur interrupts adamantly. "No, I can't go back to the dorm."

Alfred raises his eyebrows. "Why, then?"

"I just- I can't." Arthur says desperately, willing him to understand.

Alfred exhales, glancing down the street in frustration. He's running late now. "Arthur, please just tell me. Is someone making you do something you don't want to do?"

Arthur blinks in surprise at the question. How did Alfred arrive at that idea? As much as he doesn't want to answer, he also realizes how badly he wants someone to talk to.

His uncertainty must show on his face, because Alfred suddenly reaches out brushing Arthur's fingers with his own. "You can trust me." Arthur doesn't realize just what the phrase means to Alfred- how as Alfred says it his eyes tell how he feels. _I __**want **__you to trust me._

"I," Arthur gulps, throwing caution to the wind. "One of the professors is forcing me to see a nurse."

Arthur's eyes flick quickly over Alfred's features, gauging his reactions. At first, Alfred is surprised, then concerned, then uncertain. "You don't want to see a nurse?"

"I'm not sick." Arthur forces the tremor from his voice, even manages an ironical smile.

Alfred isn't convinced. He bites his lip, glancing down the street again. "What if I come with you?"

Arthur is mildly surprised by the offer, but all the same it doesn't matter. "I don't want to go. I'm fine."

Alfred isn't convinced. Arthur feels his chest begin to tighten. He wants to ask questions, argue. Arthur can feel himself coiling inward, preparing to lash out. But then Alfred breathes out, bobbing his head much like before. "Okay," he says. "How can I help you?"

"You can bloody move and let me get to the library." Arthur stumbles out in shock. Help him?

"No can do," Alfred retorts, tugging him stubbornly closer. "You look exhausted. You'll sleep if I have to make you."

Arthur rolls his eyes. That's certainly not necessary. If they stand here long enough, he might fall asleep.

"I have a question." Alfred continues thoughtfully, making Arthur's stomach drop. Again with the questions. "Has the nurse ever met you before?"

Arthur tenses, not seeing where this is going. "No."

"Do you think she knows what you look like?"

"No, but it doesn't matter." Arthur snaps back, quickly. "She knows where my dorm room is."

"That's fine. I've got an idea." Alfred offers him a grin. His eyes gleam with some harebrained scheme that has Arthur's stomach flipping. Nothing that is about to come out of his mouth will be good. But after a second, the grin slowly fades from his lips. "You have to promise me something, though."

"Wh-what?"

"That if you ever need help you'll ask for it." Alfred says seriously.

Arthur raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Of course."

That's common sense.

0 0 0

After hearing Alfred's plan for the nurse, Arthur feels both good and anxious. Good, because Alfred is on his side. Anxious, because if the nurse happens to catch them, he is so screwed.

As Arthur worries at a loose string on his sweatshirt, Alfred emerges from Arthur's bathroom with a towel over his head. They've both changed into dry clothes, Arthur giving Alfred permission to steal some of his roommate's dirty sweats. With Alfred looking so relaxed and comfy, he's even given himself permission to look a little sloppy- a sweatshirt and a pair of his tattered pajama pants. He quickly (_thankfully_) finds that it does nothing to lessen Alfred's affection.

Catching sight of Arthur with his legs neatly tucked under him, all the covers arranged in perfect place, and a small indulging mug of tea steaming on the side table, Alfred breaks out into a predatory grin. Any sign of organization and Alfred just _has _to break it for chaos.

"No, Alf-

He grunts as Alfred half-tackles him, smothering his face with the towel. "You're still wet, Arthur?" He teases. "What's up with that?"

"Get off of me, you wanker!" Arthur swears ineloquently, swatting at him and failing to get the towel out of his face. "The nurse will be here any second and here you look like you're on steroids."

Alfred leans back, dropping the towel and smirking. Arthur meets him with a rather battered scowl, hair flying all of everywhere. "You just want me to move because I'm ruining your perfection."

"My perfection?" Arthur says incredulously.

"Sure, your symmetry. Your aesthetically pleasing design. Your tranquility."

Arthur shakes his head, "What are you talking about?"

Alfred can't seem to explain himself, flopping by Arthur's legs like a dying fish. "Nevermiiiind. I just can't help ruining your little slice of heaven. You were looking cuddly without me."

Arthur hesitates, but inevitably gives in to stroking Alfred's head. The words leap to the front of his mind, nearly the front of his mouth, but he swallows them. Too afraid to say them aloud. _I like being with you. _He figures it's sort of obvious anyway. A knock on the door interrupts the moment.

Arthur swallows heavily, but Alfred winks, jumping to his feet. His blue eyes flick around before he hisses, "Why don't you read something? It'll look more natural."

He flushes but nods in agreement, grabbing a random textbook off the side table along with his tea mug.

"There we go," Alfred grins. "Shit," he giggles. "I'm totally getting you reading glasses for your birthday."

Arthur scowls, but a bit of tension melts from his shoulders. "I don't need reading glasses, idiot. I'm twenty two."

"For the aesthetic," Alfred defends himself, already prancing towards the door. A goofy smile adorns his face, making him seem all the more loveable. "Or maybe for the vine. We'll see when we get there."

Alfred throws open the door, the picture of sunshine. "Hi, you must be Nurse Shanemeyer. Oh, am I pronouncing that right? Is it Shane- meyer or like Shan-i-meyer?"

She seems thrown for just a minute by his fullblown cheer, but then matches it easily. She is a young peppy nurse after all. Part of the job description. "It doesn't really matter what way you say it. I've heard it so many ways." She laughs and Alfred laughs with her. They're practically bloody twinkling. Arthur thinks they could make a marvelous depression medication commercial.

"You must be Arthur then?" She asks and Arthur holds his breath. Moment of truth.

"Yep, that would be me." Alfred agrees, shifting on the balls of his feet. She makes a note on the clipboard she's carrying. "Would you like me to ask my roommate to leave?" Alfred asks her calmly. "We were just hanging out and I hadn't even thought of it."

"No, he can stay if you don't mind him. We'll just head into the restroom so I can check some things out." Her brown eyes flick over him curiously. She doesn't see anything wrong. Arthur is suddenly grateful for his baggy concealing sweats. He calmly turns the page of his textbook and takes a small sip of tea, watching from the corner of his eye as she leads Alfred into the bathroom.

He doesn't exactly understand why Alfred is doing this for him. Solidarity? Maybe Alfred does believe him- that he's fine. Which he is. It's just... most people don't seem to. Arthur ponders this latest development over his tea. Alfred has more or less agreed to stay out of it.

As the minutes tick by, he thinks that he should be growing progressively more anxious. Yet after reaching the bottom of his mug, an accomplishment he hasn't been able to claim in quite some time, all Arthur feels is tired. He rests his head against the wall, thumbing idly through the textbook and hoping that when Alfred does come out he can stay for awhile.

"...overly concerned. But it's nice to see professors taking an interest in student's lives. You must be one of Professor Germaine's favorites." The nurse appears, jolting Arthur into alertness.

Alfred shoots him a helpless look over her shoulder. "Well, I wouldn't say favorite."

Shanemeyer shakes her head. "You must be his something, then, for him to show so much interest in you. What did you say you were majoring in?"

Alfred has positioned himself by the door to make it obvious that she should be leaving. She seems oblivious to his bouncing though, as she fiddles with the clasps on her bag.

"Uh..." Alfred's eyes grow wide with panic. Arthur raises his eyebrows incredulously. Have they seriously not talked about this yet?

"History," he mouths. Alfred stares, shaking his head. "History." Arthur half whispers.

"What?" Alfred asks.

The nurse looks up from her bag. "What?"

Alfred gives a jittery laugh. "Sorry, what did you say? I got lost in my thoughts for a second there."

"I was just wondering what you majored in."

"Oh, you know..."

"History, history, history, history." Arthur mouths over and over again.

Alfred gives him an exasperated shrug, "Mystery?"

Arthur nearly facepalms.

"Hmm?" The nurse's brow furrows and she gives him a skeptical look.

"It's a... mystery." Alfred laughs uneasily. "I'm still deciding."

"Aren't you a junior?"

"Yeah... yeah... I'm just..." Alfred exhales, nodding assuredly. "Taking my time with it, you know? Didn't want to rush into a bad decision." He continues to bob his head, crossing his arms. "My dad did that. Got stuck in a job he hated. Not something I want to do."

Arthur nearly groans. He wants to bury his face in his hands, but instead he flips another page of his textbook.

"Ah, well, that's good you're thinking it through." The nurse gives him an incredulous smile that devalues everything she just said. "What areas are you considering?"

Alfred half-opens his mouth in a smile, but behind his glittering blue gaze Arthur can tell he feels like killing her. "Well..." He throws an exasperated look Arthur's way. Arthur prepares to take up his chant of history again. "Just about everything..."

"Everything?" She raises her eyebrows.

"Just explor-" Alfred cuts off when Arthur suddenly holds up his textbook behind her back. The cover has a giant picture of an American flag, and so help him god if Alfred doesn't get that.

"History!" Alfred shouts, causing both Arthur and the nurse to jump. "I love history. Duh, I love history! Wow, that makes so much sense for me." He laughs, looking pleased with himself. "I'm such a dork."

Arthur scowls. That's a bit overkill.

Alfred flashes him a grin. "Yeah, I'm thinking about history. Basically. Yep." He laughs again, and the nurse sends him a weird look.

"That's probably why you're one of Professor Germaine's favorites."

"Ah," Alfred snaps his fingers, giving her a wink. "Yep, that would be it."

Arthur feels like vomiting. Alfred could at least attempt acting a little more like he does.

"Have you thought about what area of history you're interested in? Your chart tells me you grew up in London. Was there something here that you were specifically interested in?"

Damn this lady and her questions! Her brow furrows slightly as she begins to wonder why Alfred has no accent.

Alfred can about tell his time is up. Arthur wonders if she won't notice him if he hides under his covers. Alfred catches Arthur's eye one last time. Something in his gaze makes Alfred frown. He stands up straighter and proceeds to lie with such agility that even Arthur is impressed.

"I'm interested in American history," he says reasonably. "Obviously, it makes more sense to come here to study it. Haha, I believe I've become so integrated that most people can't even hear my accent anymore. It was a London accent anyway, so it was pretty slight. Can't help but miss it sometimes." Alfred offers her a sorry grin. "I have a class soon, so..."

"Oh, of course," She smiles apologetically. "I'll just leave you to it."

Arthur gapes when her back is turned. How in the world did Alfred just...?

Alfred gives the air a couple quick fistpumps. "Nailed it!" He mouths ecstatically. He starts to close the door behind the nurse, when someone in the hallway says, "Alfred?"

His blue eyes spark with confusion, then recognition, then horror. Arthur can't stand sitting in the bed any longer and slides in his socks over by Alfred. "Shelly." He says in shock. What's she doing here?

"Alfred?" The nurse asks, looking at Alfred.

"Arthur." Alfred says.

"I'm Alfred," Arthur joins in.

"Arthur, what are..." Shelly frowns in confusion.

"I'm just standing here." Alfred groans, pretending to laugh. "At least give me a chance to get my books, eager beaver. I had an appointment with the nurse. I'll be out to walk with you in just a second."

He proceeds to slam the door in both of their faces. He turns to Arthur with saucer-sized eyes. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit."

"Don't lock her out there!" Arthur hisses furiously. "What if they talk?"

"Oooooooonnnn second thought." Alfred flings the door back open. "Why don't you come in... uh... Michellleeey... seashell... Shelly! Yes, Shelly! I want to show you my new sex toy!" He blurts, grabbing her by the arm and jerking her into the room.

"What is going on?" Shelly demands when Alfred closes the door with a wave to the exasperated nurse.

"Sex toy." Arthur says blankly, to which she raises her eyebrows at him. Alfred's knees give out and he sinks to the floor in a heap.

"Ugh, that woman."

"Sex toy." Arthur repeats.

"It was the first thing that came to my mind!" Alfred shouts defensively, rubbing at his eyes with his fists. Arthur wonders if he should be worried about that. "Come on, Arthur! You weren't even doing anything. I was the one having to lie under pressure. Then, Seashell shows up and makes everything complicated." Alfred looks up at her seriously. "You have the worst timing."

"Alfred, you forgot my name." She shakes her head. "Or should I say, _Arthur?_"

"Just stop it." Arthur groans, giving up and sliding down next to Alfred. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to check on you." She looks between the two of them. "It seems like you're covered, though. Sex toys and switching identities, even a nurse."

"Heeeeey!" Alfred whines, but looks over in surprise when Arthur suddenly pushes his face into Alfred's shoulder. "Arthur?"

Arthur can't look at either of them. He tries to hold it back, but his shoulders are already shaking from the effort.

"Arthur, are you... laughing?"

The utter disbelief in Alfred's voice only seems to make the situation funnier. Arthur can't help it as his chuckles escalate into all out laughter. Tears start to gather in his eyes as he gasps, unable to pinpoint why it's just _so funny. _He can't believe how horribly wrong it all went. And how... how he really doesn't care.

Alfred, who never needs much of an excuse for laughter, joins in after a moment. At first hesitantly, but then his warm rich laugh echoes with Arthur's. He grabs Arthur by the shoulders as he tumbles to land on his back. Arthur curls on Alfred's chest clutching his ribs. They hurt! He hasn't laughed this hard in such a long time. But Alfred's excuses, Alfred's goofy impression of him. All serious consequences are lost on Arthur as he laughs into Alfred's chest and feels Alfred laugh beneath him.

"You two are crazy." Shelly decides, but she can't help grinning a little bit.

Alfred winks. "We're a package deal." He presses a kiss fondly to Arthur's mussed hair. Arthur doesn't notice the uncertain look his friends exchange over his head.


	7. Essential Advice

**Hello all! I decided to go ahead and update this Friday. If you take time out of your holidays to read this, I am duly impressed. :) I will be updating next Friday as well. **

** Someone asked me quite awhile ago (Sorry i'm so bad at replying!:P) if I used music to write my stories. Um, yes! I do, haha, a lot- that and the little hard citrus Japanese candies where you can eat the wrapper! :0 (Channeling my inner Alfred... It's made of rice paper). However, this story is based more on personal experience and has less of that musical quality :P.**

**I just realized recently that I meant for this story to be _in real time_, so now it's slightly off and suddenly almost Christmas. Sorry to pounce finals on you like that, Artie. :) Much love, doze.**

* * *

><p>"Show-toe-qua." Alfred enunciates, grinning in amusement as Arthur tries to form the word correctly. It's been ten minutes and every time he attempts, it sends Alfred laughing. Damn Indian pronunciations.<p>

"But it's not spelled that way..." Arthur insists, feeling his ears go red all the same as Alfred starts to giggle. "Why did you have to be born in such a weird place?"

"Chautauqua is not a weird place." Alfred says indignantly, sticking his tongue out. "It's New York and it's beautiful and I'm very proud."

"God only knows why," Arthur shakes his head, earning himself a playful push from Alfred. They're sitting cross-legged on his dorm bed, exchanging information about themselves on a Sunday. It had come to Arthur's attention that since Alfred didn't even know what he was majoring in, they should have this talk.

The incident with the nurse, now several days past, has no effect but to make Arthur smile now and then. He missed Professor Germaine's class that day, but he has decided to put it firmly from his mind until next Wednesday. Having Alfred back is all the distraction he needs. "Alright, so what's... what's that city like?" He asks.

Alfred grins, shaking his head. "Oh, I didn't grow up there. Just born there. I visited my grandparents last summer though. It's on the lake, which is absolutely fantastic! The boating and fishing are great, but my favorite parts are all the old mansions. I think you would really like it. It still has a lot of old 1900s architecture. We stayed in a bed and breakfast that used to be a mansion. It was incredible!"

Arthur nods. "That sounds fascinating."

"I'll bring pictures next time." Alfred promises brightly.

"New York is quite far away from here." Arthur notes. "How did you end up in Seattle?"

"Well..." Alfred trails thoughtfully. "I grew up in Leavenworth which is here in Washington. It's a pretty small town. I'll take you some time. There's a lot of German buildings. It looks like it should always be covered in snow since it borders the mountains and stuff. I came to Seattle because I wanted to go to a good culinary school. My parents weren't exactly thrilled since we've always lived in small towns, but I was excited to see the city." Arthur nods along, trying to picture the places that Alfred is describing to him. What Alfred must have seen and felt. Where he went to school and what he did for fun. Hearing about the boating and fishing in Chautauqua brings back memories from his own childhood.

"So," Alfred prompts, reaching suddenly forward to claim Arthur's hands with his large ones. "What about you? This isn't just an Alfred talks for ten years thing. The nurse said you grew up in London? That's a huge city."

"Well, sort of. We moved there when I was fourteen." Arthur slips his fingers between Alfred's, smiling slightly as Alfred traces a thumb over his knuckles. "I was born in Whitby. It's a small fishermen's town on the harbor. My father used to manage a small company there, before he moved to London to try his luck at my uncle's department shop. We used to have a boat and I would go out with my brothers sometimes and we would fish." Arthur trails to smile quietly.

Alfred nudges forward eagerly. "Tell me more about it."

"Of more interest to me now and perhaps to you," Arthur looks up to meet Alfred's blue eyes curiously. "It was the setting of Bram Stoker's Dracula. There's an abandoned abbey there that played a part in the story. I didn't know it then, but I'd been to the ruins and always found them quite wonderful."

Alfred chuckles, suddenly reaching to swing an arm around Arthur's neck. "Only you would call ruins wonderful, Art."

Arthur shrugs, falling quiet.

"Do you have pictures?" Alfred asks, his tone warmer. He always sounds genuinely interested. Since Arthur came to Seattle for college, no one has ever really asked him about his childhood. Alfred's curiosity makes his ears burn. Alfred doesn't fail to notice and laughs.

"Okay, later, then. What about London? I can't even imagine living there. I mean, I've been to New York City once or twice, but living there sounds both impossible and amazing."

"At first, it was difficult." Arthur admits. "I didn't know anyone at school. The city was very large and we moved into a wealthy district where I was expected to act a certain way. I had never really experienced anything like it before. We'd never visited my uncle in London. I didn't know what to expect. I was..." Arthur breathes out. He wonders how honest he should be. Meeting Alfred's warm blue gaze, he knows he has the tendency to spill more than he should."I was angry with my parents for a long time. I wasn't, well, particularly excellent at making friends. The ones I did have in Whitby I hardly got to speak to anymore. I did some," he chuckles nervously. "pretty stupid things when I was fifteen. I regret most of it now."

"Stupid things like what?" Alfred asks.

Arthur snorts in disbelief. "I have an image to maintain, Mr. Jones." He says wryly, lips quirking in amusement as Alfred begins to pout. "I can hardly spill all my secrets."

"Come on," Alfred pleads. "I'll bet you can't even begin to match some of the stupid stuff I've done. How about we swap? One stupid story for another?"

Arthur pretends to consider. It's not that he wouldn't share stories with Alfred, but some of his particularly angsty teenage moments still make him want to strangle his former self. He gets to his feet, coming to a compromise. "I'll show you a picture."

Alfred's eyes widen and he looks like he might complain, but the prospect of being shown a photo is too wonderful. He doesn't want to ruin it. Arthur nearly laughs at his anticipation. Alfred has the bed shaking with his bouncing. Various trinkets on his desk rattle. Arthur can't help but smirk as he leans under the bed to pull out a cardboard box. He settles back on his haunches to look through it, feeling Alfred watch from above.

As he goes, he finds things that he realizes he wouldn't mind showing Alfred anyway. Bits and pieces of life in England. Old writing awards, a Cadbury wrapper, a tie from sixth form, his first ever Bic lighter, a rare one pound lion coin, a dog-eared Oyster card. He proceeds to toss those on the bed and Alfred examines them curiously.

"Ah, Arthur! You were so cute!" Alfred exclaims suddenly, holding up the first of many small photo albums. Arthur doesn't even remember packing them, but his mum never fails to be overly sentimental.

The picture is one of him at around four or five being held by his older brother Murtagh in the dining room of their old kitchen. His brother is sporting a semi-fashionable mullet and Arthur himself is dressed in his Halloween bunny costume, holding a carrot. He remembers that year. Murtagh took him out trick-or-treating and James pantsed Henry in front of the Mason's house.

"Yeah..." He says noncommittally, feeling his cheeks grow red as Alfred proceeds to fawn over the rest of the pictures in the small album. He wonders what his mum could have possibly been thinking- that he would somehow need his first-day-of-school photos through sixth year. Let alone, the fact that Alfred discovers a photo of one year old Arthur in the bathtub that he proceeds to rip away quickly. Alfred pouts, while Arthur makes the vehement promise that he will _burn it. _

Arthur is still searching for the particular photo when he feels Alfred slide off the bed to sit next to him on the floor. "Wha-" He turns to look, but he doesn't even finish the word. Alfred's hand rests against the back of his neck and Alfred's warm lips press against his. Arthur is too surprised to return the kiss, but Alfred doesn't seem bothered. He pulls back with a soft grin, abruptly kissing Arthur on the tip of his nose.

"You're adorable." He says in admiration, causing even more color to rise to Arthur's cheeks. If he had known this was going to be so embarrassing, perhaps he would have suggested they go see another movie. But then Alfred works Arthur's hands away from the cardboard box, guiding them to wrap around his waist. At the same time, he pulls Arthur easily into his lap. Arthur can feel the warmth of Alfred's large hands against his back through the thin fabric of his button up.

On second thought, he decides he can deal with a bit of embarrassment for this.

Alfred doesn't really seem in the mood for anything more than cuddling. Arthur is too afraid to ask for anything more after the catastrophe that occurred earlier. Besides, as Alfred lifts him and tows him over to the bed, he feels a lot more comfortable when all they do is lay on top of each other.

"We're going for tea," Alfred determines later. The way he says it shows that he won't take no for an answer.

Arthur chuckles, tracing Alfred's cheek with his finger. "Do you even like tea?"

"No, but you like tea." Alfred insists. "I've found this really cute place downtown. They've put up their Christmas lights already. We can go shopping afterwards. It'll be fun."

"I'm having fun right now." Arthur half-groans as Alfred slips away from him.

"Come on, Arthur. I have school tomorrow, so we can't hang out until late. I want to take you somewhere."

"Why do we always have to do what you want to do?" Arthur puts on a half-whining tone, turning his face into his pillow. He can feel himself starting to smile.

"Uh, that is not true." Alfred puts a hand on his hip in the way of all sassy mums everywhere. "We stayed in this afternoon and talked about our feelings like you wanted."

Arthur blusters for a minute, sitting up with wild hair. That is _not _what happened. "You didn't want to do anything!"

"Yeah, and you wanted to talk." Alfred smiles devilishly. Arthur knows he's teasing, but that doesn't make it any less annoying.

"Oh, so it's all on me."

"It is." Alfred agrees. He's already slipped on his coat and gloves. He bites his lip in a goofy smile as he creeps forward. "You need to get out more. It'll be _fun, _Arthur." Arthur scowls, but Alfred is close enough that his breath tickles against Arthur's fringe and it's doing something odd with his heart. "Though I'll admit," Alfred continues, looking through his eyelashes at the different strains of color in Arthur's eyes. His voice grows huskier. "You are so cute when you're lazy."

Before Arthur can retort to that, Alfred kisses him fondly on the forehead, then the nose. He pauses before he kisses Arthur's mouth, but Arthur has already tipped his chin up in anticipation. Alfred laughs again, kissing him. The warmth of the sound reverberates against Arthur's lips and ultimately gets him out of bed. More or less like Alfred planned it.

Arthur wants to put on something nicer, but Alfred rushes him to the door, shoving a jumper over his head and grabbing his scarf and causing him to start cursing the day Alfred was born. Once they're out in the wet snow, he gives that up reluctantly. He likes it better when he and Alfred press against each other in the cold.

"So..." Alfred says, his arm swung over Arthur's shoulders as they walk downtown. Fairy lights hang across the buildings, sparking like little beacons against the general gray of things. There are several people out walking like them, laden with their Christmas shopping. Rosy cheeks and bustling strangers, places to be. "So..." Alfred repeats after he's gathered his thoughts. "What are you doing for Christmas?"

Arthur shrugs lightly, mind flying back to his Macbook on his dorm room desk. He's supposed to book tickets back home, but he's been avoiding it.

"Are you going back to England?" Alfred asks curiously.

"I haven't decided," Arthur says. "And before you lecture me, I know, I know. Ticket prices will go up as it gets nearer. I'm aware."

Alfred's lips twitch. "I wasn't going to say that." He breathes out, a giant cloud of white that hangs for a moment before dissipating. "I'm staying here. My parents wanted me to drive down to Leavenworth, but I've been interning at a restaurant and they really need me for the holidays. The head chef and I get on really well. I'm hoping that he'll offer me a job once I finish this year."

"Mmmm..." Arthur adds that to his mental catalogue of things he's learned about Alfred. "I'm sure he will. You're a brilliant chef."

Alfred's eyebrows raise in shock for the compliment. Arthur wonders if it's really that hard to wring praise out of him. For Alfred at least, he feels like he gives it rather freely. "Wow, thanks Arthur," His smile turns joking. "But it's a bit hard taking your word for it when the one time you tried my food, you threw up."

Arthur's nose wrinkles. "I was sick," he says petulantly, though his heart thuds a bit faster.

"Yeah..." Alfred trails uncertainly, looking like he regrets bringing it up. "Well, if you stay in town, you outta come stay at my place for Christmas. I won't have anybody around, and it's not much fun being alone." Alfred's grin widens ruefully. "We can do stupid couple things, if you want."

"Like?"

Alfred tugs him into the tea shop, walking backwards so that he can continue their conversation. "Like decorate the tree and watch Christmas movies and go see light displays and sing Christmas carols and eat Christmas cookies. You have to try my cookies, Arthur. They're what I'm most proud of." He shrugs out of his winter coat dropping it into a red leather booth.

The place is piping warm. Fog steams on the giant windows looking out over the main street. The table is rugged wood and so are the floors. Quaint pictures of country towns done in modern style adorn the pale blue walls. Christmas wreaths are looped around the light fixtures. Fairy lights hang sparkling over an ancient T.V. set in the corner. A wireless on the counter drones out Bing Crosby into the silence. Several college students sit huddled up with homework and a few elderly couples share entirely silent conversations, speaking only in the slight raise of an eyebrow or brush of a hand.

"Arthur?" Alfred prompts, a faint note of worry in his voice.

Arthur shrugs out of his jacket, dropping it onto the table. "Yes, Alfred. I heard you. I'll have to try your cookies. They're to die for."

Alfred relaxes a bit, though he still looks uneasy. They stand in awkward silence at the table, before Alfred waves towards the counter. "Order whatever you want. It's on me."

"Not likely." Arthur replies neatly, pulling out his own wallet.

Alfred groans good-naturedly, but doesn't make a fuss. "Fine... _But only because you'll feel super guilty about what I'm getting you for Christmas."_

Arthur spins to look at him.

"What? I didn't say anything."

"Goddamn you, Alfred Jones." He mutters, barely holding a scowl. Something about Alfred that he's realized recently- Alfred enjoys being cursed at.

Alfred grins, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "Whatever you say."

Wait. Scratch that. Alfred enjoys being cursed at when he knows Arthur doesn't mean it.

Once they've settled with stoneware mugs and Alfred with an array of pastries, they sit in silence for some time watching the snow. As Arthur sips his tea, he feels smug for managing to shove his card into the cashier's hand before Alfred, effectively paying for both of their drinks. He feels Alfred's foot brush against his under the table and looks over curiously. It bothers him that Alfred looks sad. He does look sad, doesn't he? Maybe it's the fact that he's not bloody beaming at the moment, but...

Alfred gives him a small half-smile.

"What?" He says, feeling out of his depth. The elderly couple next to them may be excellent at having silent conversations, but Arthur is still fleshing out how to have talking conversations, let alone soundless ones, full of depth and meaning.

"Nothing," Alfred shakes his head, looking bothered. He looks down into his mug quietly. "Actually... Arthur, can I ask you something?"

"If you must." Arthur says, hoping for a grin from Alfred, but Alfred only shrugs.

"I'm having a hard time with something. I was wondering if you could give me some advice."

"Oh." Arthur says, feeling uneasy. He wouldn't call himself the real life issues guru. It's odd to him that Alfred would even consider confiding anything.

"Yeah." Alfred breathes out. He bites his lip. "Basically... my friend's been really down on himself lately. I'm not sure what exactly is going on, but I really want to help him, you know? He doesn't seem very willing to talk to me, though."

Arthur shifts his weight. He hates being asked for advice. He always has these ridiculous dreams that people are going to come back and haunt him if he gives them the wrong sort. "You'd have to give me more information than that, Alfred. I mean, from a purely friendly standpoint, you should make it really obvious that you care about him. Perhaps, then he'd open up."

Alfred exhales with a slight smile. "You'd think, wouldn't you? I don't know. It's kind of sensitive. He's a private person and I don't want to seem like I'm prying. We haven't been friends for very long."

"Are you sure there's something wrong then?" Arthur puts forth, willing to give this friend the benefit of the doubt. Though, if nearly oblivious Alfred is worried about him, it's likely that something is wrong.

"Yeah, well, pretty sure. He acts odd sometimes and gets really defensive. I don't mean to upset him, but... I just do. I was wondering... I mean, it's bothering me because..." Alfred trails off into silence, looking frustrated. Arthur has never seen him act this way and he doesn't like it. He reaches forward putting his hand over Alfred's.

"Don't worry about it too much, Alfred. You're a wonderful friend. I'm sure he knows that too. If he doesn't want to open up, it's his own fault, not yours."

"But I care about him!" Alfred blurts out in disbelief. "You're saying I should sit on my ass and do nothing?"

"No..." Arthur swallows, taking his hand back at Alfred's surprisingly volatile reaction. "I didn't mean... I..." He feels color rise to his cheeks. How is it that he always says the wrong thing?

Alfred sees him looking upset and he sighs guiltily. "Sorry, Arthur, really. I'm just frustrated. I want him to feel better is all. He... he seems like he's hiding stuff from everybody and it's not good for him. You can understand why I'm worried?"

"You care a lot about this friend," is all Arthur says, abruptly feeling irrationally jealous.

Alfred is thrown by his mood change, but rather than offer reassurance, he laughs. "More than you realize."

"Hmm." Arthur grunts into his tea. His generous advice giving mood has evaporated. He now feels grouchy and irritable thinking about a person Alfred cares for so much. Here he was just feeling special too. The fairy lights were getting to him. "Well, if he won't tell you how he feels, he's obviously not worth your time. I know you care about him, and because you're so goddamn stubborn you'll never stop caring about him, but he doesn't deserve it if he's going to shut you out so much. Sounds bloody ungrateful to me."

Alfred's brow furrows quizzically, an odd smile quirking his lips. "I think I agree with you. I should punish him. Sometimes I think he does it on purpose." He looks near laughing. Arthur doesn't understand why his somber mood has changed to this bemused one.

"If it'll get him to open his damned eyes to the fact that he has a wonderful, very handsome friend, then I don't see why not."

Alfred laughs this time, reaching for Arthur's hands. "You're cruel, Arthur. What would you have me do?"

Arthur frowns skeptically. _I would have you spend more time with me is what I'd do. _He exhales, squeezing Alfred's hands as he does it. He's acting a bit ridiculous, getting jealous over something silly. "Don't give up on him. He... he probably doesn't know how to react to someone that actually cares to know the truth."

Alfred looks shocked by the seriousness of his advice, and also oddly suspicious.

Arthur scowls. "I can give good advice now and then, git."

"Riiiiiight." Alfred draws out, squinting his eyes.

Alfred then pushes himself forward to kiss Arthur across the table. "Thank you, then."

"Y-You're welcome." Arthur has to clear his throat, blushing a bit.

Afterwards, they spend time idling in the little shops. Alfred bursts with excitement for Christmas, loading up on lights and wreaths and decorations until he and Arthur are both struggling with the bags.

"You're helping me decorate." Alfred says with no room for argument. "This week some time. My roomie's leaving for Nebraska, so we'll have the place to ourselves to be loud and crazy and do whatever we want."

Arthur huffs under his load of cookie cutters and holly. "Perhaps, you're going a bit overboard."

"Nah," Alfred snorts. "Me? Overboard? Never."

"Have you met yourself?"

Alfred laughs. "I suppose I am making you carry ten tons of stuff. Look, we'll drop it off at my apartment in a second. There's one more store I want to check out."

Arthur huffs irritably, but trails along after him, nearly dragging the bags on the ground by this point. His arms burn but he doesn't want to ask Alfred for help. He's perfectly capable by himself. Alfred leans up against the door of a beautifully decorated shop, humming Christmas music absently under his breath.

He walks backwards to push it open, dictating a spot on the floor for Arthur to dump their purchases. As he straightens up, he looks about himself.

"Oh." He says quietly, eyeing the glass displays of fudge and sweets.

Alfred doesn't hear him, skipping up to exchange pithy words with the familiar albino cashier. "Gilbert, my man," Alfred high fives him ecstatically. "Nice elf ears."

"I scared a child. It's victory enough for me." Gilbert retorts, leaning lazily against the counter. Alfred and Arthur are the only customers at the moment. It should feel empty, but to Arthur it feels extremely claustrophobic. The sickly sweetness of the fudge- he feels that the place needs to be fumigated.

"If you're looking for free samples, you can fuck off," Gilbert continues. "I got busted for giving Lizzy some the other day. Manager was not too thrilled." He lets loose a low whistle. "I think he was really just mad that she wouldn't give him her number. Sorry motherfucker." Gilbert shakes his head.

Alfred laughs lightly. "He shouldn't be too upset. I mean, when you first asked, she kicked you in the dong."

"That was an accident." Gilbert growls, wincing as the memory returns. "She thought I was flirting when I so obviously wasn't. I asked so that I could use my new prank call scheme."

"Sure." Alfred sticks his tongue out slightly. His blue eyes glitter as he begins to examine the different treats in the display cases. "Any suggestions? I'm loading up in case there's a blizzard."

"Aren't you always, Jones? You can at least try looking fit now that you've got a boyfriend." Gilbert smirks.

Alfred puffs out his cheeks. "Not funny. I'm a chef. It's in the DNA. I look alright, don't I, Artie?"

Alfred throws a look back at him imploringly. It comes to Arthur's slight amusement that he actually seems concerned.

"Like a runway model." Arthur rolls his eyes. Alfred doesn't have to know that that's the actual truth.

Assuaged, Alfred winks. "Thanks, rockstar."

After Alfred loads up on sweets and exchanges a few more insults with Gilbert, they walk out into the mushy Seattle snow. As they go, Alfred starts up a running critique, not seeming to realize he's doing it. "I'd add more nuts to this. This one's too dry. Mixing pumpkin with peanut butter sounds interesting in theory, but I'm not entirely sure in practice. Possibly more milk?"

Arthur listens to his commentary with a slight smile.

"I really like the peppermint pieces in this. Super festive, but also crunchy..." He trails, looking at the block of white and red fudge. "Do you want to try some, Arthur?"

Arthur's heart skips a beat. He swallows roughly, forcing himself to meet Alfred's curious blue eyes. "I'd rather not."

"Oh, yeah." Alfred frowns, fidgeting. Not seeming to know what to do, he shoves the whole block of fudge in his mouth.

Arthur's brow furrows skeptically. "Really?"

Alfred forces a grin and a defensive, "It's good."

"You were just criticizing it."

"So? It's sweet and I like it."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "You're sweet and I like you. Doesn't mean I just go shoving you into my mouth."

Alfred snickers. "Well, not all at once."

Arthur turns on Alfred, ready to beat him a new one. But the silly fear on Alfred's face as he hastily swallows his fudge so he can run without choking causes Arthur to nearly laugh instead. "You're an idiot," he settles to say.

"I know. I always do the wrong thing." Alfred smiles helplessly. Arthur frowns because it's the same smile he wore back in the tea shop.

* * *

><p><strong>For the record, his "friend" is Arthur. Haha. I can't have anyone missing that.<strong>

**SO SEMI-IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'd like some _reader feedback_ for this, so drop me a review if you have time. :) **

**1. Later in the story, it becomes pretty essential for Alfred to identify some positives about food in Arthur's life. (This comes after some pretty traumatic stuff that will be happening soon, I promise. I can't speed reality, but this story does eventually get pretty graphic. Christmas fluff aside) So I wanted to ask my readers what they think _Arthur's favorite food_ is. I'll hopefully be able to use some of your contributions. :) If you explain why, I might even get a laugh out of it. :P**

**2. I'm looking for a good cover picture for this story. I don't like my new one :( I can't find pictures of Arthur eating ANYWHERE, so anyone that hoards tumblr photos and can help me out, I'd be much obliged.**

**THANKS! Your helps is so appreciated, doze.**


	8. I'm Not Prepared

**Weekly Friday update ready for pickup. :P**

**So um, damn you guys really responded to my question. I really liked some of your answers for Artie's favorite food. But... You'll just have to wait and see. :3 (and for everyone who suggested scones. Don't worry, there will be scones.) I have also come to love/hate my new cutesy story image, so the flower crown stays. But thanks to those who offered me pics!**

**Also... Yukichan (srry if i got the username wrong) I do NOT live in Washington. :) But it seems like you do. You have been nominated official accuracy checker! :P **

**While I'm talking about my boring self, some people were wondering whether I was a girl or boy. Answer: Unconfirmed. (though, I am in the minority here... if you needed to guess...)**

**Warning: Semi-graphic**

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><p>"You should invite him to the Christmas party!"<p>

"No." Arthur doesn't even bother looking up from his book.

"Seriously? Why not?" Shelly cards her fingers through her messy hair. It's done up in a sloppy bun, synonymous by now with finals studying. She lets her head drop onto his shoulder. "What if I say please?"

"It will change nothing." Arthur brushes one of her stray hairs from his mouth. "I would not do something so idiotic as invite him to an underclassmen booze fest. Honestly put, I think we're too old to go by now. Do you really want to hang around babies all the time?"

"Francis is going."

"My point." Arthur shakes his head. "Shelly, I'm trying to study. If you aren't going to quiz me, then I don't want to talk right now."

She shifts up into a sitting position with a sigh. "Always so serious. Why couldn't you recruit Alfred to help you out?"

"Don't be silly. He has things to study for too." Arthur flips another page of his book.

"Like what? He's in culinary school for Christ's sake."

"He has a pass or fail exam where he cooks for his instructor. He has to demonstrate certain skills. He has to show off a dish of his creation. He's busy, and I refuse to get in his way." _Nor do I want to be made impromptu taste-tester. _Arthur adds in his mind.

"So you aren't meeting up with him later?"

"...I didn't say that."

"Of course," She rolls her eyes, smirking slightly.

He scowls, letting his book fall to his lap. "What?"

"Nothing. I just think it's amusing how earlier you were trying to convince me he wasn't your type. You can't lie to me, Arthur. I know you."

"I haven't dated anybody since secondary. There's no possible way you could know _my type._" Arthur says with a delicate sneer. "Alfred is obviously very handsome and quite charming when he can be bothered. I don't see why any other person, boy or girl, wouldn't be interested."

Shelly shakes her head. "No, there's more than that."

"Enlighten me." Arthur says wryly. He sets his book on the desk, knowing that she's well and truly distracted him.

"Well, first off," She smiles. "You like him because he's a gushy type."

Arthur snorts. "Please."

"No, I'm serious." Shelly grins wider. "You like it when he randomly decides to serenade you with lovey dovey garbage or when he insists on holding every door open."

"He's just being thoughtful." Arthur says defensively. "Anybody would like that."

"Yeah, but..." Shelly shakes her head. She continues to look at him all ruffled up and then just laughs. "I don't know what it is, Arthur. You and him, you're like the dynamic duo."

Arthur blushes.

"How eloquent." He grumbles and she only grins. She likes Alfred a lot. After the initial forgetting of her name, Alfred and Shelly clicked easily, finding shared interests in the weirdest of things. Arthur had been a bit nervous having the two of them out for coffee, but it had almost gone _too _well.

Apparently, they were both avid Star Wars fans. Alfred went on and on about his collectors this and whatever from Episode III. Shelly happened to mention Food Network, which as anybody could imagine shot Alfred straight to Cloud 9. She was a somewhat amateur chef and by the end of their coffee time, the experience had turned into the Dr. Phil of cooking troubles. Shelly confessed all her issues and Alfred would troubleshoot.

Arthur had followed along half-heartedly. Realizing that he had somehow become the third wheel to his boyfriend and best friend was not a fun moment. He's never really considered himself much of an attention-seeker, but around Alfred he finds it difficult to sit by and watch as he smiles, laughs, jokes with other people.

Shelly, who never misses anything, persists in teasing him for it every time they're alone.

"I'm just happy for you." She says, when Arthur continues to scowl. "Alfred is very awesome."

"I realized." Arthur decides he's had enough of her for one sitting and stands, stretching. "I'm going to study alone now."

"You can be so rude, you know?" She sticks her tongue out. "Fine, fine, get your perfect scores alone, then. That's how you always are."

Arthur rolls his eyes, shoving a few more books into his backpack. She thinks that he studies all the time, but she would be surprised to know how much time he actually spends napping. Enough that even lazyass Alfred gets a kick out of teasing him.

"Hey, did you ever talk to Germaine?"

"Eh, yeah," Arthur shoulders his backpack, giving her a pained smile. "He was pretty forgiving, realizes I've been stressed out... He must have talked to the nurse, because he apologized to me and said that I no longer have to take meals with him."

"Really?" Shelly's eyebrows lift. "He's been doing that for awhile now and he just decided to stop."

"Well, he had the nurse's word that "_I'm" _healthy." Arthur shrugs. "About time he left me alone in my opinion. It was just really annoying, having to be down there at that time everyday."

"Are you going for lunch now, Arthur?" Shelly asks suddenly. "Because I'll-

"No need." Arthur interrupts, offering her a quick smile. "Alfred and I will get something I'm sure." _Well, Alfred will get something, at least._

"Oh," She relaxes a little at Alfred's name. "Right. Okay, see you then! And think about that Christmas party!"

"I won't!" He calls over his shoulder. The chilly winter hits him full force as he leaves his favorite haven this time of year. The campus is lit up for the holiday. Wreaths and little glowing fairy lights twinkle along the light posts. A grand spectacle of a tree has taken center stage on the high street.

Not many students are out and about, either tucked into the library or their dorms, but invariably tucked into ten tons of notes. Usually, Arthur is as stressed as the next guy. He puts a lot of pressure on himself to perform well. For a long time, it had been to prove a point- that going to uni over here hadn't been a bad decision. Recently, it was because he liked to be the best. There isn't as much competition or mark-comparing in college, but Arthur still gets a kick out of receiving the highest marks in his class.

This time around, his classes are hardly difficult. It's in his nature to study as the year goes on. He really has no reason to stress when the time comes for finals, though he often does.

If he could categorize the year in a word... He thinks that 'distraction' works rather well. Schools distracts him from Alfred. Alfred distracts him from school. School and Alfred distract him from things that he'd rather not think about.

Arthur is looking forward to the next several weeks. He's given up his plans for a London Christmas in favor of spending time with his new boyfriend. While staying at Alfred's apartment makes him nervous for all sorts of reasons, Arthur feels like he already knew he would give into the temptation as soon as Alfred suggested it.

Slowing slightly, Arthur considers dumping his bag in his room before meeting Alfred. He's already running earlier than they had agreed, but he likes to pop into the culinary school now and then without warning. The surprised and then pleased grin that grabs at Alfred's face is something Arthur enjoys more than he will admit.

He might as well do this properly. A classic reindeer pattern Christmas jumper later, he trots down the cobblestones, wondering if Alfred hasn't affected him a little too much.

When he reaches the school, the secretary at the welcome desk, waves him through with a, "Merry Christmas, Arthur. Alfred's in kitchen B."

"Thanks." Arthur gives her a wolfish grin, unable to help the slight spring in his step as he heads down the empty hallways.

Proper classes are on hold for the moment. The culinary students are at work, fixing their various independent projects. When the time comes, they will prepare them in real time for the instructor. It's a pretty open concept place. Students drop by when they want to or when they can- to practice.

Arthur has learned the layout of the building by now. He's found that it's one of the better times to visit Alfred and that Alfred isn't forceful about shoving food down his throat like he feared. Arthur, other than school, doesn't have much to occupy himself with. Books have always been his means, but with the addition of Alfred in his life he finds the usual reading solitude gloomy rather than enjoyable.

It doesn't help that Alfred is ceaselessly busy, involved in everything from the Culinary Student Decorating Committee to his church's babysitting services. His job keeps him working nights and the culinary school has him practicing days. Weekends are stuffed with community service this and party planning that. Alfred never stops. Sometimes (although secretly, as Arthur could never bring himself to say it aloud) he worries that he'll lose his foothold in all Alfred's chaos and that he'll be confined to the dusty corner of things that Alfred got bored with (i.e. Teach yourself guitar, P90X, and learning Greek).

He takes a deep breath, noticing that his hands are sweating a little. Leaning his weight into the swinging door, he pops his head in nervously. Alfred has the stereo blasting "Good Girls Go Bad" and is head banging to it without a care in the world. A piping tube of frosting serves as his makeshift microphone.

"_I was hanging in the corner with my five best friends. I heard that you were trouble, but I couldn't resist." _Alfred sings in a high-pitched imitation of the artist, twirling a knife expertly in his other hand. A cake, half way frosted in green, sits in front of him and he dances around it as he works. It's not the only thing cooking. As is the way with Alfred, there's a casserole in the oven and a seafood medley on the stove.

"_Oh she got away with the boys in the place. Cheat 'em like they don't stand a chance. And he got away with the girls in the back, acting like they're too hot to dance. I make them good girls go bad."_

After coating the cake in smooth green, Alfred brings his pipe tube around and begins to add little red lattices to the side. Arthur is always interested to watch Alfred work. The expert way he handles the icing, his skill, it's evident in the delicate sweeping of the red pipe work. His hand never shakes and always connects the next lattice evenly.

_"I make them good girls go... good girls go bad."_

The next song has come on by the time Alfred notices him at the door.

_"Drunk all night. You think you're hot shi-_ Oh hey, Artie!" He brightens instantly. "I didn't expect you! Get over here! You need to see this rad ass rose that I made out of fondant earlier."

He leaps forward, not giving Arthur a chance to move and jerks him to the counter. "See, look at that fucking beautiful little shit. Two hours of practice and that's what I get. I think I'll frame it."

Alfred, arm now tight over Arthur's shoulders, shows offs a delicate pedaled red rose in the clumsy palm of his hand.

"That's not made of icing." Arthur snorts. "Don't try and pull that on me."

"Um. Hello." Alfred's mouth drops. "It totally is. I made it. Look it's fondant, like the covering you can spread over cakes. I wanted to figure it out. Basically you have to make the rose, but then you have to steam it to give it this realistic shimmer. I swear to God, Arthur! I'm not lying!" He ends, half-yelling, but grinning. "I would shove this in your mouth, but it's too beautiful."

"Because it's real." Arthur retorts

Alfred groans, stomping his foot on the ground like a toddler. "It's nooooooot."

This draws a smile to Arthur's lips and he reaches to catch Alfred's chin. Alfred's eyes grow wide, but he stops his childish whinging. When their mouths meet, Alfred tastes sweet like sugar. He brushes the rose off of his hand onto a cutting board, so that he can fully hold Arthur. His hands massage at Arthur's back, moaning into him.

When he pulls back, Alfred sighs, dropping his forehead against Arthur's.

"How's your studying been going?" He asks.

"Well enough." Arthur says. "You taste like you've been eating the fondant." He acts like he's going to poke Alfred in the stomach and nothing gets him stumbling away faster.

"Only a little," He pouts, before grinning. "You're wearing the sweater I bought you."

Arthur scowls. "Am I? I've been meaning to do some laundry. I should really get on it, if it's come to this." He pinches the navy blue jumper in pretend disgust.

Alfred pouts again. "Cruel."

It isn't long before they've settled in their places, and Alfred babbles on relentlessly. The music turned down to a level that it's completely forgotten. Arthur sits on one of the counter tops lazily thumbing through a book as Alfred finishes up.

"Sooo... what's the agenda for tonight?" Alfred asks over the clattering of his dishes. "Were you going to bring your stuff over yet?"

"I haven't even taken finals yet."

"So?" Alfred shrugs. "My roommate left yesterday. I've got no one around. It's not far from campus at all."

Arthur raises his eyebrows. "You're trying to waylay me into decorating, again."

"I'm not." Alfred tsks, but avoids his eyes.

"You are." Arthur smiles, because Alfred isn't looking. "Don't you have something later? Painting the nursing home or something like that?"

Alfred glances over his shoulder, incredulously. His arms are lost in soap suds at the sink. "Painting the nursing home?"

"Either that or teaching orphaned blind children to read."

"I'd have a bit of a hard time doing that." Alfred notes, grinning. "Come on, Arthur. I'm not a saint. I've got nothing going on tonight. It'll be just you and me if you're up for it."

"God, I don't know. All night?" Arthur feigns reluctance. "I haven't had time to properly prepare myself for-"

"For what?" Alfred interrupts, turning around to grin at him. He crosses his arms. "My awesomeness?"

"Your enthusiasm." Arthur says.

"I'll take it. You could have said something much worse." Alfred quickly turns back around, causing Arthur to laugh.

"What did you think I'd say? Your willy?"

"Arthur," Alfred pretends to gasp. He throws a wink over his shoulder. "I'll take that too, actually."

Arthur can't help smiling. "Of course, you would. You need all the encouragement you can get."

"Um. Whoa." Alfred spins back around, laughing as he accidentally sprays them both with suds. "Sorry. Uh..." He giggles. "You got a little..." He brushes a hand against his nose.

Arthur wipes it off with his sleeve, shaking his head to rid himself of the suds in his hair. Alfred laughs.

"Wait, wait," He chuckles. "I was angry. What was I saying?"

"Willy?" Arthur poses, smiling doggishly.

"Yeah! Right! You haven't even seen it, you little shit." Alfred wags a finger at him.

"Then... maybe I'll have to." Arthur suggests, a bit breathlessly. His hands tighten against his book.

Alfred doesn't answer. Arthur worries that he's gone too far. When the silence stretches on, he quickly opens his mouth to apologize. Panic coils in his chest, tense and red hot.

"That depends." Alfred tosses the last dish down to dry. He leans up against the counter to inspect Arthur. "Would you take good care of it?"

Arthur's mouth flaps slightly, cheeks burning. "What the hell was that pause for?"

"It's a serious question." Alfred breaks to grin for just a second, before he smoothes his face into a marble mask again. "What would you do with it, Arthur?"

"Oh, fuck off." Arthur runs a hand under his collar. "You're teasing me."

"I mean," Alfred continues loftily. "Not just anyone gets to see it. I don't just whip it out for parties and nonsense. You need a backstage pass for this dick."

"Alfred," Arthur groans. "Stop."

Alfred comes teasingly forward, resting his hands on Arthur's knees. "I need to know, Artie." His blue eyes are warm and smoky. He leans playfully upwards, biting his lip as he considers. Arthur swallows, wondering if he's really going to get hard over something so-

Alfred pecks him on the lips. "After your last final. Christmas break. My place. Don't be late." He pauses, before saying goofily. "Merry Christmas, Arthur."

Before Arthur can tell him that he's an arrogant prick for thinking his sex is God's gift to men, Alfred meets him in another kiss. Okay, maybe it's true.

0 0 0

It's later in the evening that Arthur has to face him. Him and his army of cookie cutters. The particular reason he had been putting off going to Alfred's to decorate is now very much in his face.

"Please." Alfred pouts. "We did what you wanted to do all day. And... you didn't have anything for dinner."

_Or lunch_. Arthur adds in his mind wryly. He ate some carrot sticks for breakfast, but those hadn't sat very well. He'd been reduced to pulling his knees to his chest and waiting in bed until the horrible clenching of his innards stopped. If there's any reason not to eat, it's that it hurts when he does.

Alfred's puppy dog face continues to gain in intensity.

Arthur caves with a soft, "Fine. But I can't bake for shit."

"That's no problem." Alfred beams, reaching for him. He lets Alfred hold him, guiding his hands to mix and add the right ingredients, roll out the dough, press it into little gingerbread and reindeer shapes. It would have been calming, but each cutesy cookie stares back at him with unseen eyes. _You're next. _

How very macabre he's getting recently.

"Into the oven. And now we wait." Alfred pops the cookies in. He turns to Arthur after a moment. A bit of tinsel is still twisted in his honey hair from their tree decorating experience. Alfred bites his lip thoughtfully, before holding out his arms. "Come here."

Arthur skulks over, tipping his head into Alfred's chest. Alfred's arms wrap around him. "I love you." Alfred says fondly, in a deep rumble of a voice. He rocks them back and forth. "Are you sure you want to stay around here for Christmas?"

"Very." Arthur says tiredly. "I might actually get a moment of peace. My family..."

Alfred laughs. "It's just me and my brother in my family. He's super quiet anyway. I was the loud one. They say holidays without me are very boring."

"Perhaps the word they were looking for was relieving."

"Hey," Alfred shakes him lightly. He chuckles. "You know... Arthur, I... I'm looking forward to spending the holiday with you."

"Mmm." Arthur murmurs, feeling his heart burn. This holiday will certainly be different under Alfred's watchful eyes. He has the tendency to get lost among his brothers and cranky relatives back home. They may ask him about Seattle, but other than that... For a second, he indulges himself imagining what they would say if he brought Alfred. The conservative ones would be stiff-lipped. Some wouldn't care. His mum would be surprised. Alfred is very handsome.

The beep of the timer draws him reluctantly from his reverie. Once all the cookies are cool, he and Alfred arm themselves with store bought icing and begin the slow work of giving their characters faces. Alfred chatters goofily, giving them names and lives and voices as well. He claims that Arthur's gingerbread man, a businessman by day, agent by night, is madly in love with his gingerbread man, an opera singer with a fetish for gumdrop buttons.

Arthur, who would normally cut off his ridiculous nonsense quickly, lets his head fall to his arms and just watches. Alfred acts out a melodrama of some ten minutes, bringing them up to kiss each other at the end. He holds out Arthur's cookie, biting off the head of his own. "And with his life in order, Arthur Gingerbreadman decides it's his time and that he's ready for the great beyond."

Arthur takes the cookie slowly from Alfred, dreading what will inevitably happen. It pleases Alfred and that's the fact he holds onto. It only serves to make himself more disgusting, _disgusting._ But these are Alfred's cookies. Later, he can deal with himself accordingly. Now, he can do his best to make Alfred smile.

Arthur swallows the last bite, forcing a smile to Alfred's and accepting the next cookie with no complaints. Alfred continues his stupid voiceovers, obviously enjoying himself. He doesn't notice that Arthur's hands shake or that sometimes he has to force back bile. And that's okay. Arthur doesn't want to be interrogated. But... At the same time...

The harsh feeling that sends his guts turning. It stabs unrepentantly around his middle, sending him to his feet and around the other side of the counter, pushing himself into Alfred's side. Alfred blinks, bewildered, but throws a steadying arm around him. "Last one to finish the dozen, you want it?"

"I suppose." He snarks, accepting it from Alfred. Eating it faster doesn't help. His insides are churning. His heart too. His left arm feels like it's going numb. The whole of his chest hurts, causing his vision to spark. He's panicking. He needs to calm down.

"Al-Alfred, I'm going to use the toilet. I'll be back." He excuses himself hastily, ducking away.

Once he's in the bathroom alone, he drops to his knees by the toilet, panting. _Not yet. Not yet. Later. Not yet. _One of his hands clutches at his chest, not understanding. It's never hurt there before. Why...

Arthur gasps in pain as he tries to move his left arm. Something's wrong. Something's... Several tears slip through his slitted eyes. He tries to catch his breath, but the pain is incredible. He doesn't think he can stand. _It's because I ate. He made me eat. Why did he make me eat? Can't he see? _

Cookies of all things! Cookies! Arthur grasps at his roiling stomach. Pastries and cookies and... he gags, forcing back the bile. _Control yourself, you hopeless miserable unwanted wretch! Alfred won't be happy with you if you puke in his apartment. Get yourself under control! Or he'll see what you are!_

"See what I am..." Arthur closes his eyes, dropping his head against the toilet seat in agony. His chest, fuck his chest. If it were just his stomach, he could handle it. But this...

_I need a depressant. Something that slows heart rate. _

Arthur's eyes flitter up to catch the white of Alfred's medicine cabinet. He only has one bathroom in his whole apartment. It would be here. Agonizingly, Arthur draws himself to his feet. His left arm still hurts to move. His stomach is in knots and his chest burns with a pain that makes it hard to breathe let alone function.

He eases open the cabinet door, scanning over the labels. By this point he'd take anything. Painkillers, whatever. His eyes land on a bottle he recognizes and he pulls it down. Xanax. He had taken it for anxiety when he was fifteen. Briefly, he wonders if it's Alfred's. But it's not enough to stop him from dumping four in his palm and downing them.

It's not immediate, but it laps over him like an ocean wave. He feels almost blissfully heavy. His stomach still stabs at random occasions, but he can stand up now. Arthur hesitates, but pockets the bottle. Xanax is a prescription drug. Whoever has the prescription can get a new one.

0 0 0

Alfred chuckles, rubbing Arthur's back fondly. "You like my bed, dontcha?"

"It's bigger." Arthur agrees lazily, moving his head up more on Alfred's chest. "More room."

Alfred kisses him. "Night, buddy. Thanks for decorating with me."

"I don't mind." Arthur says honestly, kissing Alfred quickly under his chin.

"Yeah..." Alfred yawns. "You're the best."

Arthur shivers, smiling warmly as he listens to Alfred's breathing slow. It's ironic or maybe just fitting. He's a liar and he likes being lied to.

He stays awake for at least a couple hours. The pain in his stomach has far from gone away, but he couldn't pass up the chance to stay with Alfred. Silently, he slips from the bed, careful to not make noise.

He's tired and he wants to get this over with quickly. Arthur shuts the bathroom door, easing the toilet lid up. Just in case, he turns on the shower to drown out any noise. All it takes is a slight push of his finger. He tries not to look when he does it, but he makes himself listen. The retching noise is disturbing. No matter how many times he does this, he can't get past the fact. It's disgusting and ironically only serves to make him gag harder. An overwhelming disgust for himself is the only thing that's allowed to fill his belly.

Once Arthur finishes, he obsessively rinses out his mouth, unable to quite be rid of the acidic taste. That's done now and he should be able to rest. It calms him to think of things in a laundry list kind of way. _Make Alfred like him. Check. Get rid of subsequent food. Check. Go back to bed. _He straightens up, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of one of Alfred's oversized hoodies. In the silence of the apartment, he watches himself in the mirror critically. Gently, he pulls up the edge of the hoodie, inspecting his stomach. _Weak. Fat. Incapable. Undisciplined. _

"I'll get there." He promises himself, uncertain where there is. "I'll get there. Alfred... Alfred wants me."

To hear it out loud makes him flinch. _I don't know why he would..._

He touches one of his ribs anxiously. _I can control this. I'm okay. I can't do anything about my... face, my hair, my teeth, my skin. But _this _I can control. _

"This I will control." He murmurs, dropping his shirt and straightening. Yet, the uneasiness doesn't go away and he continues to trace his fingers against his sides. _I probably didn't get it all out. I had to wait this time. It's too late now. The extra calories... _

Arthur gets down slowly on his hands and knees, dragging in a deep breath that seems to rattle his bones. He forces himself into press-up position. His arms quiver against his weight, but he guides himself down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Arthur gasps raggedly. Tears sparkle irrationally in his eyes, driving him harder. Down. Up. Down. Up. _I can barely hold myself. Why... I'm so weak. My arms..._

His arms shake like tree branches in a storm wind. He pushes spastically harder, faster, harder, faster. _Make yourself, fuckjob. Make yourself. Of course you want to give up, you're a pansy. You haven't got a gram of strength in you. Did you see yourself in the mirror?_

Abruptly, Arthur's arms give out and he falls, face smashed into Alfred's bathroom rug. The impact scares him and he lets out an undignified squeak. He hadn't meant to stop. Why had he stopped? What happened? Arthur, who's arms feel like jelly, rolls to his side, gasping. He drags his knees to his chest, feeling himself begin to cry. _Fat. Stupid. Weak. Undisciplined. Useless. I can't even do press-ups._

He presses his face into the fuzzy rug, letting the tears roll down uninhibited. It smells a bit like the cologne Alfred uses sometimes. Thinking of Alfred gets him thinking about the bed where Alfred's warm arms are. He makes an odd sort of keening noise, unable to move for so many reasons.

Alfred had held him earlier, cradled his head, kissed his cheek. He'd been playing with Arthur's hands, demonstrating how he could wrap his whole fist around both of Arthur's wrists at once. "_You're so small." _He'd said quietly.

Alfred notices. Alfred can see his efforts. All the same, the buoying effect in his chest does nothing. It's hollow. He's not really doing well. He can see it for himself.

As his heart slows, he knows he can probably manage to get up now, but he stays where he is. He doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve Alfred's warmth. A shiver traces down his spine. Doesn't deserve... Alfred.

Healthy, wonderful, beautiful Alfred trapped with fat, horrible, ugly Arthur. Waiting for his real prince to save him from the nasty, nasty leech, the imposter, the fake. Then, Alfred can live happily ever after and hopefully Arthur can be somewhere else where he doesn't have to watch. Watch Alfred be happy with someone else, because Alfred is happy. Arthur doesn't make him happy. That's a trick of association. Alfred is the definition of happy. He would be happy either way and he'll be happy long after he realizes how disgusting, _disgusting _Arthur is and moves on with his wonderful, _wonderful _life.

Arthur lets his eyes slip closed, thinking of people. People with parasites. People that cut limbs off to be free of traps. He'll let go before that point, he decides. Alfred shouldn't have to lose something for the likes of him, no matter how selfish, _selfish _he is.

* * *

><p><strong>So I heard there were some people recommending me on tumblr and someone put this story in a community! I forgot to add it up there, but thanks so much guys. The reviews and everything utterly overwhelm me. Your love for this story is so unbelievable. Happy New Year! <strong>


	9. How Do I Know You're Not Lying to Me?

**Hi guys. (sheepish smile). For any that are wondering, if I do not update one Friday, I'll probably update the **_**next Friday**_**. I don't update on any other days for this story.**

_Important Notice: _**Which brings me to some stuff that I need to address and I've been feeling super shitty about. A bunch of guest reviewers have been pestering about updates and it's driving me UP A FUCKING WALL. I don't mind SUPPORT, CRITICISM, or even reviews expressing REGRET over a lack of update. But JFC some of you guys are really mean. I love when people want an update, but you can have a bit of courtesy. They honestly make me want to flash a birdie and wait another week. **

_TLDR: _**I think if readers see the reviews they'd understand. I've published a FEW of the reviews. Just don't do it okay. It's hurtful and babyish. Cuss at me to your pillow or something. **

_Length: _**I plan for this story to be about **_**25-30 chapters**_** for any wondering. (that way if you're bored out of your skull you can start the countdown :P) **

_Info on Graphic Scenes: _**Many have asked what I mean by graphic in future chapters, and it's a bit difficult to explain. I don't mean gory or sexual, but triggering and explicit in a bare bones kind of way. Intense hospital scenes are mainly what I'd warn about. I only place strong caution, bc i kno people who are bothered by hospital scenes. My bf can't watch any movies with hospital scenes bc of stuff that's happened to him. Sometimes I'm very abstract with descriptions, and other times I'm practically anal with it. It really depends on what an individual is alright with. **

**There's a nasty physical side to anorexia that I've noticed a lot of fics don't go into. They leave it at the dramatic puking scenes or the tears, and yes, that is definitely happening. But there's other little things, like what happens to your body when you first start eating again, or how your heart is affected or your metabolism. This story goes from beginning to a large part of recovery so I'll be mentioning touchy, if plain gross issues. I don't want anyone to be negatively affected by my story. It's not pretty. And there's nothing wrong with not reading it if it bothers you. **

_Questions on Rating: _**I plan for the story to remain T. I think those who have not struggled with this will be fine at that rating. Any who have, caution is advised.**

** Also the holidays are continuing for a couple more chapters... sorry. ;p I'm about to puke if I have to write about Christmas anymore, but it's in the outline folks. **

* * *

><p>"Arthur... Hey... Arthur, you alright?" Arthur comes to groggily, uncertain where he is. His back aches horribly and his arms are stiff as hell. He realizes quickly that it's still night time. From his spot on the floor, he can see through Alfred's legs out into the dark hallway.<p>

Something warm lays against his cheek. Alfred. Alfred's hand.

"Fuck, you don't feel good. Arthur, I think you have a fever. Are you alright? Hey... careful..."

Arthur ignores him, shunting himself into a half way upright position. All he sees are the tips of his blue toes peeping out from a way-too-large-pair of Alfred's pajama pants. Jesus Christ, he's freezing. He reaches out, grabbing Alfred's warm hand and dragging it to his cheek again, breathing out.

"Hey... did... did something happen? The shower was on... Did you pass out?"

Arthur raises his eyes slowly to look at Alfred. His honey hair is tangled and crazy, glasses crooked, sleepy eyes. The pillow has printed tracks across his face.

"I'm fine." His voice is ridiculously hoarse and he shivers violently.

Alfred isn't convinced, but Arthur can't fight. Can't fight him right now. Can't explain. He grabs Alfred's other hand, trying to glean as much warmth as possible.

Alfred frowns. "Your lips are blue. Your hands..."

Arthur looks at his hands, noting that they're a purple color.

"You're cold. Come here." Alfred puts his hands under Arthur's elbows and begins to lift him. A weird expression crosses his features, fearful? surprised?

Arthur doesn't care, exhausted. He's exhausted. When he's on his feet, he pushes his face against Alfred's chest. "Don't move." He means it as an order, but it sounds more like begging. Alfred is so warm.

Alfred says something about bed.

He guides Arthur through the dark hallway back to the room. In the bed, he pulls Arthur close, enveloping him. Alfred massages the feeling back into his fingers, then his feet and toes. He cups Arthur's face with his hands, until his nose is warm and his cheeks and his ears.

"Stay in bed." Alfred says. "I'll get you some medicine for your fever. Stay in bed."

_Stay in bed. Stay in bed. Stay in bed. _

Arthur nods wearily, but still gasps when Alfred slips from his grasp. He comes back with a glass of water and a Nyquil.

"Sssh. Take it. It'll help you sleep."

Arthur accepts the glass and the pill. As soon as he's done, he reaches, twisting his fingers in Alfred's shirt.

"There, go to bed. There. Sssh."

Alfred rubs his back, "Sssshhh."

...

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Lay back down."

"No, I'm going back to my dorm. I probably tripled your water bill. I'm sorry." Arthur wrinkles his nose, shivering in the morning air. He has one sock on. Where's the other?

"Arthur, you passed out in my bathroom last night. You're not going anywhere."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing!" Alfred blurts incredulously. He throws back the covers and storms forward. Arthur backs up, heart skipping, and his back hits the wall.

"I'm sorry." he says numbly. Not sure what Alfred wants from him. He's angry.

Alfred scowls. "Goddamnit Arthur! What's the matter?"

"I'm fine." Arthur says mechanically. "I'll leave. You want me to leave."

"I just told you to get your ass back in that bed." Alfred grabs his wrists suddenly. "Look at me."

Arthur can't. His ears are ringing. "Please." He murmurs at the floor. "I'm fine. I just fell asleep in there. Nothing more. Please. I'm sorry."

Something in his tone affects Alfred. Alfred slowly lets go of his wrists, frowning. He mutters something that sounds awfully like, "Always hurting, never helping."

Arthur feels a flash of panic. His heart stutters painfully. He looks up with wide green eyes. _What does that mean?_

"Alright, Arthur," He says, turning his back and running his fingers through his hair. "You're fine. You're always fine. I'll see you later... Just... try and get some rest for me, okay?"

"Alfred..." Arthur's voice is thicker. He realizes and he spins for the door, slamming it behind him. Just in time too. The tears are hot on his face. _Weak. Weak. Weak._

_0 0 0_

"No, mum. I'm not coming home." Arthur throws his head back in exasperation. The mobile has long since become hot against his ear. He feels as if the conversation has been going on forever. His roommate is trying his best to ignore him over a pile of psychology notes.

"Mum, I told you. I'm staying with friends... Well, it's too late to get tickets! My last final is tomorrow! Prices are bound to have skyrocketed."

Arthur massages his forehead, cursing the headache that hasn't gone away.

"Mum, I'm not coming home. You'd be paying for it anyway... I don't want you to have to pay for it... Because I'm a good son, that's why!... Yes, I know that you're paying for my college... I know! No one knows it better than me!... I don't care if Henry's flying back... What? He won't care if I'm there either!... Who am I staying with? Friends, okay!... Yes, I happen to have friends..."

Arthur sighs heavily. "Don't get all defensive I know you didn't mean it like that. Look... I just really want to stay in Seattle... Mum," he laughs in exasperation. "I don't care if you're making my favorite. I don't want to... Dad?"

Subconsciously, Arthur straightens in his chair, taking his feet off the desk. "Oh... I know... I just want to... Yes, I understand... Yes, yes, yes... You'll pay for the ticket. That's bloody brilliant, but dad, I don't want..."

_You're coming home._

Arthur scowls, wondering what's made him so adamant all of a sudden. He never cared before. Arthur couldn't play football. Arthur couldn't play cricket. Arthur didn't like watching sports. Even on their recent holidays, his father has more or less ignored him to play sports with his other brothers. They simply don't have a lot of shared interests.

Even so, Arthur knows when a battle is lost. His parents do pay for his college. He had wanted to pay for some of it, but he only has a student visa and is unable to legally work in the U.S. It has been a tremendous drawback, something his parents always seem to hang over his head. Well, it looks like they've cashed in now.

"Fine," Arthur bites out. "I'll be home for Christmas."

He is not happy.

It's not that he minds terribly. He likes England. It's his home in so many ways. But he'd set his mind on spending time with Alfred. On sleeping in and cuddling and opening presents together. On being awakened by kisses and having afternoon sex on the couch in the middle of everything because they damn well could. (On not falling asleep in the bathroom with the shower on like a fucking idiot...) The disappointment he feels causes him to shove away his usual bag of snack vegetables. He knows he won't be able to stomach them.

"Yes... yes... mum... you'll book the tickets... splendid. Just tell me when the flight is." Arthur says listlessly. "I'll be there."

He hangs up, dropping his head backwards and groaning. His nose insists on dripping like a leaky tap. A headache lurks in the wings, ready to encompass the whole of his consciousness. And now this.

"Hit the finals wall?" His roommate asks, looking quite near it himself.

"It's more that the family boa constrictor has locked me into coming home for Christmas," Arthur admits, glaring at the ceiling. "I don't know what I'm going to tell my boyfriend."

His roommate chuckles. "Merry Fucking Christmas, am I right?"

"Merry Fucking Christmas." Arthur murmurs, thinking that there's nothing better that he'd like to do than get roaring drunk.

0 0 0

He gets about two steps out of the lift when Shelly jumps up beside him. "Guess who's coming to the Christmas party?"

"Not now, Shelly." Arthur pushes her aside, stalking murderously towards the front door.

"What's up with you?" She asks. "You've got one more final! Then you're free for almost four weeks."

"If you mean free in the sense of forcibly shipped back to England, then yes, I'm like a butterfly on the breeze."

Shelly raises her eyebrows, whistling. "Parents."

"Bloody nuisances." Arthur grumbles.

"Have you told Alfred?"

He sighs heavily. "On my way."

"Ah, well. You should come to the-"

"If you say Christmas party one more time, I will lose it." Arthur bites out, pushing open the door.

"There'll be booze."

Arthur looks back, just able to see her through the closed door. She holds up her hands in an innocent shrug. He just shakes his head, stalking off in the general direction of the culinary school. Alfred will probably have his exam at the exact fucking moment Arthur needs to talk to him. It's scheduled for today, and Alfred's been nervous all week.

Upon arriving at the culinary school, Arthur resolves himself to wait in the lobby. The secretary doesn't nod him through like usual, so Alfred is probably presenting for his instructor. As he sits, he grows progressively more anxious, tapping out a heinous rhythm with his shoe.

He doesn't want to tell Alfred. He's disappointed enough as it is. He doesn't think he can stand to make Alfred disappointed too (or make Alfred _act _disappointed...). He swallows, twining his fingers together. Alfred probably won't be that upset at all. He'll just invite over his myriad of other friends and be happy like always.

"Arthur?"

Arthur jumps, nearly knocking over the miniature tree beside him. "Alfred."

Alfred, who is obviously in a rush, frowns, "What are you doing here? Is something the matter?" He has on his work smock, bag thrown haphazardly over his shoulder.

"I..." _I can't stay for Christmas. I want to stay for Christmas. I'm very upset. Will you miss me? _"No, n-nothing." Arthur laughs anxiously. "Just... just wanted to ask how your exam went."

"Oh." Alfred smiles. "Great, actually. I only messed up a couple times." He glances towards the door. "Look, I really gotta run. Tomorrow's your last final and then we're home free! One more day and then, well, you know what!" He grins devilishly, bringing the heat to Arthur's cheeks.

Of course, he hasn't forgotten about their spectacular bedtime plans for after finals.

Alfred trips forward to give Arthur a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you then okay."

"W-wait, what about tonight?" Arthur asks. "Do you work?"

"No, but I have plans." Alfred shifts his weight. "I was pretty sure you'd want to study."

"Oh," Arthur feels his heart plummet. A vague nagging makes him wonder if this has something to do with the bathroom incidence. He can still feel the bottle of Xanax in his coat pocket, forgotten until now. It presses lumpily against his hipbone and he shifts uncomfortably. "That's alright. I'll... I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Alfred throws him another smile, before all but running out the door.

0 0 0

Arthur confines himself to his room for the rest of the day, trying and failing to focus on his French history notes. It's a bit ironic that the class that brought him to Alfred only seems to be taking him away from Alfred now. He traces his thumb down the curled yellow edge of a research book. Alfred does know that he wouldn't have minded hanging out tonight, doesn't he? Of course he would still be studying and it would probably be rather boring for Alfred. (Arthur would consign him to holding up notecards or propping up books.) But still...

Arthur sentences the book to the edge of the desk, massaging his temples delicately.

It doesn't help that his roommate is singing in the shower. "I'm done! I'm done! I'm D-O-N-E, done! Fuck it, bitches!"

"Where are you going?" Arthur asks idly, when he reappears wearing a tacky Christmas jumper and a Santa hat.

"The party. You gunna come?" His roommate flashes him a grin, fixing his fringe in the mirror. "I remember freshman year you were the one that won the shot contest."

Arthur groans, causing his roommate to laugh.

"That was just great. No one expected the kid in the sweater vest to be able to knock 'em back with the seniors. It was even more hilarious, because you had a final the next day. Professor Stanson in Econ 101 looked like she was going to beat your ass."

"Mrmp." Arthur doesn't like to remember that. It was _very _embarrassing.

His roommate grins, coming over to clap him on the back. "Maybe you should stop by some time tonight. It would be fun for old time's sake." He smirks knowingly. "It doesn't look like you're getting very far any way."

"It's a good thing I didn't get you a Christmas present." Arthur grumbles as his roommate's laughter fades down the hallway.

He sighs, glancing back at his scattered pile of notes. He should study. Really.

0 0 0

When Arthur arrives, he's already decided that he's just going to look around, show his face, and then get the hell back to his dorm for an early night.

The party is held in something the students like to call the Subterranean. It's a fancy name for a cheap ass place hidden in the basement of the first official dorm built on campus. There's no heating. The carpet is ripped up in places and the skuzzy wallpaper releases a funky odor when one stands too near. Several of the more artsy and involved have taken the time to throw up a few wreaths and fairy lights. Their boyfriends were dragged into setting up a decent stereo system. One of them stands guard now, steering curious onlookers away from his expensive set.

Arthur wanders over to one of the white tables set up with punch. He nervously procures himself one, less for drinking and more for looking like he has something to do. He decides that if he can't find Shelly in the next five minutes, he's making the dreadful hike through winter weather back to his bed. All parties to hell.

After awhile, he spots Francis. (Of course.) He means to duck into the ancient kitchen alcove to hide, but Francis is particularly keen tonight. Once Arthur thinks he's made it away...

"You're not really drinking _plain_ punch, are you?"

Arthur jumps, spilling a spot of said punch on the jumper Alfred bought for him. "Oh, shit. Look what you've done, you nosy prick." Arthur shoves his drink on the laminate counter, frowning at the stain in the dim light. "Damn. If I can't get this out..."

Francis rolls his eyes overdramatically. "I don't know why you'd want to get it out. Honestly, Arthur, I've been meaning to have an intervention. Your style has somehow gotten worse from freshman year."

"Oh fuck off." Arthur shakes his head in exasperation. "What do you want anyhow? I didn't-" He cuts off abruptly, looking semi-shocked by what Francis offers him.

"Take it, Arthur. You look so stupid with your mouth open like that."

When Arthur makes no move to take the portable Tide stain remover stick from Francis, Francis simply groans. He reaches forward, grasping Arthur's jumper critically. "I keep it for emergencies. Unlike you, I actually own clothes that are worth something." He rubs the stick into the jumper, clicking his tongue.

His long golden blonde hair tickles against Arthur's cheeks as he works. The smell of his cologne creates a surprisingly nice bubble. Though for appearance's sake, Arthur pretends to be choking on it. Francis only smirks. "So, latest rumor has it you've found a new beau. How does it feel to be off the market for the first time?"

"I've had a boyfriend before." Arthur grumbles, wondering how long it takes him to rub Tide on a jumper.

"Here?"

"Well, no." Arthur scowls. "Only because I haven't wanted to."

"Right."

"Don't say right in that tone." Arthur snaps. "You don't know anything about my personal life."

Francis chuckles. "My god, Arthur, be a little more defensive." He pauses in his stain-removing. "It's Alfred, isn't it? That's his name. The cooking student who made such exquisite food?" At Arthur's dumbfounded look, he continues. "Shelly has told me."

"Thank you for reminding me to kill her." Arthur says irritably. "She takes nothing in confidence."

Francis sighs. He smoothes over the nearly vanished stain with his thumb. "Don't get mad at her for nothing. She was obviously happy for you. I don't know what she sees to get so worked up over. From what I've seen, you prefer to be alone."

Arthur bristles a bit, shifting uncomfortably. "How could you-"

"Know that?" Francis finishes his sentence. "Well, my god, it's the air you put on if nothing else. I'm surprised you came tonight. You never seem to be out and looking. Understand me?" He doesn't say anything for a moment, before concluding. "Alfred must be a special boy."

"W-well, I wouldn't-" Arthur blusters, feeling that Francis is altogether much too close to him. (And perhaps too close to the truth.)

Francis lets go of his jumper, pocketing the Tide stick. "Either that or you are particularly good at pretending that you aren't lonely." He flashes an irritating grin. "Why come to America after all if you aren't going to eat the food?"

Arthur flinches before he realizes what Francis is getting at and reddens. "If you're saying I decided to study abroad because I wanted an American boy, then you couldn't be more wrong."

Francis shrugs. "You certainly didn't come here for a French boy or a British boy."

"I didn't come here for a boy." Arthur spits, pushing away from him.

"Not at first."

"Not at all!"

"I heard you were staying for Christmas." Arthur turns back around to find Francis smirking. "Why is that? Not a boy?"

"Oh fuck off. I'm not actually. I'm going home."

Francis' eyebrows disappear in his fringe. "Really? Shelly is misinformed. What did you tell Alfred?"

Arthur grits his teeth.

"You didn't?" Francis almost looks gleefully amused. "You can't build a relationship on lies, my friend. And I know Alfred; he will not stand for them."

"You don't know shit about Alfred." Arthur feels himself getting irrationally angry, but something about Francis' latest word vomit has hit uncannily home. He stalks forward to jab his thumb to Francis chest, green eyes narrowed furiously. He's about a whole head shorter than Francis, but for fuck if he couldn't beat the frog to Mars and back.

Francis' eyes glitter. "Have you ever heard of the Foodie Friends?"

"No and I don't see why I should give a damn." Arthur puts his palm to Francis' chest and pushes provocatively.

Francis takes a step back, smirking. "Alfred has."

"Lovely." Arthur pushes again, harder.

Francis steals himself. "I have."

"That's just wonderful." Arthur puts both his palms to Francis' chest and pushes. He feels a rush of adrenaline when Francis is forced to back up or fall over.

"I've cooked with him." Francis continues edgily. "He's the best with Texan, American, whatever they call it. But his French isn't terrible. He has a flair for Asian, though probably because of his best friend. Kiku, have you met Kiku?"

"Yes." Arthur grounds out, slowly dropping his hands to his sides. _Only briefly, though_... and he hadn't known that Kiku was Alfred's best friend. He'd thought it was one of those other idiots.

"Alfred and Kiku are such interesting people." Francis murmurs. "Did you know Alfred met him through a chat room five years before Kiku came to train in Seattle? It's such a fascinating story. Did you know Alfred's dream is to eventually move to Japan and learn how to make makisushi, sashimi, and onigiri the proper way?"

"N-no," Arthur says unsteadily. Alfred had never said anything about Japan.

"Really?" Francis is surprised. "He won't shut up about it when he's cooking. Kiku still laughs at some of his attempts. The flavors are right, but the presentation is..." Francis laughs at some memory. "Wanting. So, he hasn't told you any of this?"

"No."

"Oh, shame." Francis shrugs. "When I think of Alfred, I think of cooking. It's who he is."

Arthur doesn't quite understand the sinking in his chest. Alfred hardly ever talks about his culinary adventures, at least not like Francis is describing. Sure, he's watched Alfred cook, but usually... usually Alfred finishes up pretty quickly when he arrives.

"Like fuck you know who Alfred is..." He mutters, though it sounds pretty pitiful.

Francis shrugs. "Better than you apparently."

It's the last straw. The day hasn't had one particular instance more dreadful than another, but all the small things have piled up. Arthur can't take thinking that Francis knows _his _boyfriend better than he does. That arrogant, insufferable, pompous little...

"Jerk!" He snaps and punches Francis flat in the face.

Arthur inhales sharply and backs up just as quickly. He looks at his hand to realize that one of his fingers is slightly out of place. Fucking beautiful. The frog's face broke his hand. "Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters as he inspects it. Street fights had been his forte as a wily London teenager and never before had he encountered this particular problem.

Francis is aggravatingly unruffled. He rubs the side of his cheek, only looking marginally sour. "Looks like you need calcium, my friend." He kids annoyingly.

"Don't try me," Arthur growls, still feeling shaken. Francis isn't even hurt. Damn, his ego is taking a beating today, is it not?

"Arthur!"

They both look over to see a very confused looking Shelly. "What are you doing here?" She asks.

"Partying, obviously," Francis smirks. "You might want some ice for that."

Arthur grits his teeth. "I'm going back to the dorm. Bloody brilliant idea, Shelly. Come to the party," He puts on an outlandish impression of her voice. "It'll be so much fun."

She simply stares. "Did you break your hand?"

"Finger." He corrects smoothly.

"Doing... oh." She looks at Francis and then sighs. "You two belong in a zoo."

"Arthur is just happy that I am too civilized to sue." Francis smacks him patronizingly on the cheek. Arthur wonders if it's worth breaking his other hand to annoy Francis. As it is, he just lets out a tepid growl.

"I'm leaving."

Shelly laughs nervously. "Good idea."

This causes him to pause. He and Francis both raise their eyebrows. She's always on Arthur about going out more and participating and being social. It's practically her trope. To hear this come from her mouth even after Arthur breaks his finger is remarkably unusual.

"Good idea?" Arthur says half-joking, half-serious. "By god, you could at least pretend to want me around."

"No, Arthur," She twists her fingers, looking distressed. "He said you weren't coming. I was surprised. I just... I don't want to cause trouble."

"Trouble?" Francis blinks. "What other people have you been punching, Arthur?"

Arthur frowns. "Don't be silly. I'm the civilized one. What are you talking about, Shelly?"

"Arthur?"

It feels like the fifty-thousandth time that someone has called his name today. He looks over his shoulder and blinks in shock. "Alfred."

"O-oh." Shelly exhales painfully, falling to Francis' side. She tugs on his sleeve insistently before murmuring something in French.

At the moment, Arthur doesn't care about their shenanigans because he feels like he's been sucked back into the secondary school blues. Alfred was going to go to the party without him?

"Arthur..." Alfred shifts awkwardly. "I thought you were going to study." He's dressed rather nicely. His hair is slicked sloppily back. A few stray strands graze his forehead and the ever present cowlick bounces jauntily. It's not fair that he can be so incredibly handsome with only a few minutes work.

"I'm prepared enough." Arthur says flatly. "What are you doing here?"

"Shelly invited me." Alfred sighs, scratching the back of his neck. "Look, Arthur, don't be upset over something-"  
>"I'm not upset!" Arthur snaps, feeling his cheeks go red. "I just wonder really how you end up going to one of my school's parties without informing me."<p>

"Do I have to _inform _you when I'm going to a party?" Alfred asks irritably.

Arthur's teeth set. He can feel Shelly and _Francis _watching and to hell if he's going to fight with his boyfriend in front of the two of them. Alfred can go wherever he so pleases. He just shouldn't expect Arthur to be happy about it. "I'm going," Arthur says flatly. He holds up his hand for Alfred to see out of some childish desire to garner affection. "I broke my finger."

The stimulus has the desired effect. Alfred's eyes fill with concern. "Holy shit, Arthur. What happened?"

"Nothing," he says icily, side-stepping Alfred and heading for the door.

"Oh, come on," Alfred groans and follows after him. "Arthur... stop!"

He catches Arthur by his wrist and holds him by the door. "Wait a minute, okay?"

Arthur glowers.

"We're both acting really childish." Alfred says reasonably. "I should have told you. I just... I..." He scowls, looking agitated. "You haven't been feeling well and I didn't think it was a good idea for you to come."

Arthur's eyebrows shoot up and he stares in disbelief. "Wow, Alfred. Your ability to lie under pressure truly astounds me."

Alfred's brows crumple in hurt. "It's the truth!"

"Oh, yes, wonderful. So while you don't want me to go to the party, you decide to go to the party and have yourself a little Coors for the both of us? Fuck off." He jerks back, trying to get his wrist free.

"Arthur... I..." Alfred sighs. "I shouldn't have come. I didn't want to bother you while you were studying and I, well, I like parties, okay? Is that a sin? I'm sorry, alright? I'm really sorry. Please listen to me."

Arthur scowls fiercely, his heart thundering. He still feels betrayed. Even if it's stupid. Alfred is supposed to be his. Now, it seems that Francis and Shelly know more and see more of Alfred than he does. Coupled with the fact that he won't see Alfred for some four weeks of break, he feels like his last remaining source of sanity is leaking away.

He doesn't feel like staying, but he also doesn't feel like leaving. Leaving equals Alfred alone with Francis and Shelly, and Arthur, despite being beyond annoyed, certainly doesn't want that.

"I'm going to get a drink," He grumbles, pushing past Alfred.

Alfred trails behind him, looking practically constipated.

"This is the most spectacular Christmas party I've been to yet." Francis laughs, clinking his beer bottle with Shelly's, who grimaces.

Soon the four of them are lounging off at a set of tables. Arthur can't help wishing they would stop following him, but at the same time he doesn't want Alfred alone. Francis seems to be having far too much fun laughing at his misery. Arthur swallows the vodka straight, wincing as it burns.

Alfred is looking at him with a mixture of anger and exasperation, but he hasn't moved from the table yet. His fist props his head up and he plays with a Grinch figurine that someone brought to decorate the tables. Shelly and Francis are talking in French.

"Smirnoff?" Alfred asks after a moment, stopping Arthur's hand from its steady path to the bottle.

"Can't you read?" Arthur shrugs him away, grabbing the bottle and spritzing some into his Solo cup. It's meant for spiking the punch, but Arthur has commandeered it for his purposes. Last party, they'd had Everclear Proof 151, which in his opinion is a much straighter way to drunk. 75 percent alcohol content and anybody could only last so long. Plus, Smirnoff ends up tasting like rubbing alcohol after awhile.

Alfred frowns. "What? I can't have any?"

"Underage."

"Um..." Alfred snorts. "How old do you think I am? I'm twenty-one, thank you very much."

"Protecting you then," Arthur grumbles, wincing as it burns his throat.

"How thoughtful."

"Just about as thoughtful as you ditching me and going to the party yourself." Arthur burps into his palm, thinking that he'd like to lay his cheek on the table now.

Alfred sighs. "Okay, okay, I'm an idiot. I didn't think it'd be any fun without you honestly. I was just looking for something to do. I've had a lot on my mind."

Arthur grunts noncommittally, but flashes a quick look at Alfred's face. He seems sincere enough. "So you didn't tell me because you were embarrassed?"

"Embarrassed?" Alfred blinks. "Of what?"

"Me."

"You?" Alfred laughs. "Why would I be embarrassed of you?" He flicks Arthur's ear playfully. A sad smile teases his lips. "I promise," Alfred continues, "that it wasn't because I didn't want to be with you or anything. We'll be with each other all break after all!" Arthur doesn't notice him carefully slip away the bottle of Smirnoff.

All of break. Right. A lump clogs up Arthur's throat and he nods. Looking for a distraction he pulls out his mobile and begins fiddling with it. A couple messages await him and he frowns. His mum.

_Booked flight tomorrow 2:30pm layovers in St. Louis & NYC. Tickets under Ralph Kirkland. Will pick up at the airport. See u soon!_

He scowls. That early? They couldn't have given him a couple of days to himself. Bloody hell. He won't even-

It hits him like a ton of bricks, disappointment so hard and so cold that it knocks the breath out of him for a moment. In retrospect, it's absolutely silly with world issues and poverty and other more important things than his meaningless little life. But... well, if he leaves so soon, he and Alfred won't be able to keep their plans for after his last final.

He clenches the phone in his fist, gritting his teeth furiously. His stupid finger, Alfred's odd behavior, now this! Sometimes... sometimes, he feels like he could just-

"Arthur," Alfred's voice breaks his haze, sounding worried. "What's the matter? Is something wrong?"

He looks at Alfred's wide blue gaze and can feel himself beginning to crumble. "Alfred, I... I can't stay for Christmas."

"You can't? Why not?" Alfred frowns. "Did something come up back home? Is that why you're acting so odd?" He almost sounds hopeful, though Arthur doesn't pay much thought to this oddity.

"No," he whispers. "My parents want me to come home. I just can't stay."

"Oh." Alfred frowns and Arthur's heart thumps wildly so much so that it's hurting again. He can't really feel the fingers on his left hand. His bicep is going numb. He finds himself leaning so much on Alfred's reaction, and all Alfred has to say is "Oh". The tears gang up irrationally and he quickly turns his face away from Shelly and Francis, unable to bear them seeing. Dear god, he's turning into such a muppet.

Alfred touches his cheek. "Hey, let's go get some punch."

They get to the corner and Alfred pulls him into a hug with a rusty sigh. "Things have been hard recently, haven't they?" He begins awkwardly. He combs his fingers through Arthur's hair. "Do you want to talk?"

"No, I'm fine," Arthur grounds out, but the tears continue to fall and he keeps his face pressed into Alfred's chest. Hating it.

"Listen, I know... I know this isn't what you planned or wanted, but maybe it'll be good to go back home for awhile."

Arthur scowls. Alfred doesn't understand. Of course, he wouldn't understand. "Just say that you don't care either way," he snarls.

Alfred frowns, pulling back. He tips up Arthur's chin and the look in his eyes is full of confusion. "I'm disappointed. Of course, I don't want you to leave. Why would you say that?"

"I..." Arthur stumbles, feeling his cheeks redden. "I have to leave tomorrow! We won't even get to... to... like you promised!"

Alfred sighs. "Well, that sucks." He surmises with a grim sort of smile.

Arthur scowls at him.

"You're going to come back, Arthur," Alfred points out almost in exasperation. "Of course, I want to spend Christmas with you! I've been looking forward to it so much. But if your family wants you, who am I to deny? I'm upset, but you're not leaving forever! You're going to come back! And when you do, why, let me tell you..." He trails to grin devilishly, pushing his lips against Arthur's jaw bone. "We'll shake this country hard enough that it sends a wave crashing over England, alright?" He tickles his fingers down Arthur's sides playfully, causing him to squirm. "We'll get there," he promises warmly. "All in good time."

Arthur groans, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. It's not just about the sex. That's just the icing on the proverbial, sickening cake. "Your sex ideas really haven't improved."

"Hey," Alfred pouts. "I just need practice."

His ludicrous faces manage to ease the tension from Arthur's shoulders somewhat and he scrubs ruefully at his eyes. "You must think me such a baby." He says, watching Alfred through his fingers.

Alfred frowns. "Not really. No. I think one thing builds on another and so on until finally, well, someone runs by and the house of cards falls, you know?"

Arthur shrugs mulishly.

"I mean," Alfred sighs, leaning back against the wall. "When I make spaghetti, sometimes I forget to make the sauce. I have the noodles and the plate, but it really doesn't matter then. There's something I'm missing. I can't complete the whole puzzle."

Arthur shakes his head, massaging his temples. "You're bloody awful at metaphors, Alfred. If I hadn't known better, I'd say you've been drinking the Smirnoff."

Alfred gives a high-pitched laugh, swinging an arm over his shoulders. "Better me than you."

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><p><strong>Story Info: Yes, the story does climax at some point. :) <strong>

** And btw cuz I'm an anxious landmine right now. I WASN'T talking to people who guest review with excitement or regret for the next update. Some of you are so cute, so don't be scared off, alright? uwu.**


	10. One More Taste

**Hello guys! Wow, this week has been crazy.**

**Um, so we made it to chapter 10, yay! I'm surprised with myself. **

**Kana (i think..) or whichever guest asked if they could do cover art. That would be absolutely LOVELY. I would be so happy if someone took the time to do that. **

**Enjoy the chapter, doze.**

* * *

><p>His alarm shocks him to life. Arthur drives his hand down on it viciously only to cry out in pain. His crooked ring finger twinges sharply, forcing tears in his eyes. He ought to set it, but he doesn't have the time right now. He slides to his feet with his eyes mostly closed.<p>

Groping around in his drawers, he procures a baggy cardigan and a brown cotton t-shirt. He makes use of his most comfortable chinos. After all, he'll be spending basically the whole day on a plane. He hadn't wanted to get up so early, but he needs to pack. After his final, he's only stopping to grab his stuff before going to the airport.

A soft knock on the door arrests his groggy attention and Arthur pads over wearily. Alfred stands in the hall with wild bed hair. In fact, Arthur's eyes trail downwards, he's still in his Color Run hoodie and plaid pajama pants.

"Back to monitor my alcohol content?" He says slowly, scrapping a hand over his face.

Alfred shrugs lightly. "You'd be feeling worse if I hadn't."

Arthur merely grunts, unsure if it's possible to feel any worse. He knows he's only irritated with Alfred's intervention on a topical level. Secretly, he's rather thankful. If he had gotten drunk last night, any number of things would have gone wrong.

Alfred holds up a Walgreen's sack with a lopsided grin. "If you'll stop being such a grouch, I brought you some stuff. Mind if I come in?"

"Oh." Arthur shakes his head, stepping back. He half falls to sit on the floor.

Alfred hesitates, glancing at the occupied bed of his roommate.

"He won't wake." Arthur mumbles, folding up another of his shirts and tucking it into his small black bag. "He was drunk last night. Don't worry about him."

"Alright." Alfred says quietly. He sinks to sit by Arthur, watching him pack in silence. "Do you have a ride to the airport?"

"Taxi." Arthur murmurs.

Alfred snorts. "Don't spend money on that. Let me take you. I've got a car."

Arthur considers, before shrugging. "Okay."

"I'll pick you up after your test and we'll go." Alfred yawns, bending to rummage in his Walgreen's bag. "Alright, so... Let's see. I got you some Nyquil in case you start feeling bad. This cute neck pillow thing with a cat pattern. Some beef jerky, which I know you probably won't like, but whatever. I can eat it when you get back. Here's some earplugs because I know you too well. Fuzzy socks, they were actually on sale, and they're green so I thought of you. Also bought you some Lipton so you can remember America's shitty tea selection while you're over there in the lap of luxury..."

Arthur blinks in disbelief at the steady pile he's amassing. "Alfred."

"Hold on, I'm not finished. There's a Sudoku book and a couple crosswords. I picked up the newspaper. This," he presents some beat up paperbacks, "is my favorite Sci-fi series and I expect you to read it while you're gone. We'll have an in depth analysis later. I will quiz you so don't think you can get away with online summaries." He tosses the books in Arthur's lap, nearing the bottom of his bag. "Oh! Two more things. I'm not sure if you'll be able to call, but this," he holds out a note card, "is my Skype address so we can talk. Don't worry about it too much if you're busy. Just message me sometime and I'll definitely be on to talk. Lastly, here's my souvenir money." He shoves a wad of cash in Arthur's hand. "I expect you to get me at least one thing cool, and then you can just go for a bunch of obnoxious Union Jack paraphernalia."

Alfred grins boyishly.

"You didn't have to do this," Arthur mutters, feeling overwhelmed.

"Well," Alfred shrugs, bumping Arthur's shoulder with his. "I know that. I also happen to know that you suck balls at taking care of yourself, so I got you all the plane essentials. You'll be thanking me in a few hours when your feet are freezing and that baby the row behind won't shut up."

Arthur snorts wryly as he begins to carefully pack all that Alfred has given him. He doesn't like to admit it, but he is terribly sentimental when it comes to trinkets. It's a nice thought, curling up with one of Alfred's goofy books and effectively excluding himself from unwanted family gatherings. He pauses, holding the fuzzy socks. After a moment, he yanks the tag off with his teeth and slips off his loafers.

"Good luck for the exam," He explains, causing Alfred to laugh. His loafers are a bit tight with them, but they certainly won't fail to keep his toes warm.

"You'll do well, Arthur. You always do." Alfred smiles, reaching forward to squeeze his toes teasingly. "I don't doubt it."

A blush creeps into Arthur's cheeks and he shrugs ruefully. It's nice to be missed, at least.

"Oh! One more thing!" Alfred remembers suddenly. Reaching into his hoodie pocket, he pulls out a splint and some medical tape. "My brother used to break my fingers all the time when we played hockey, so I thought I could hook you up."

Arthur pretends to grumble, but he doesn't mind much as Alfred carefully sets his finger and wraps the tape over it. "I've broken my finger before. I know what to do."

Alfred smirks, "Oh come on, your fingers are so straight. No way." When he finishes, he holds out his hand to reveal a surprisingly mangled set of fingers. Arthur hadn't noticed before. "See, Matt shut this one in a door and sliced this one with his ice skates. My dog thought this one was a sausage, and when I was in third grade a bird pooped on this hand while we were drawing with chalk."

Arthur raises his eyebrows.

"Well, I know that's not breaking it, but it was pretty traumatic." Alfred says defensively.

"Oh, you poor dear." Arthur holds out his own hand, noticeably smaller than Alfred's. "I broke this one when I punched a bloke for making fun of my hair dyed. And this one when-"

"Wait, you dyed your hair?" Alfred interrupts, looking beyond amused.

Arthur shrugs. "A couple times."

"Like... regular colors?"

"Not particularly. I liked blues and greens."

"That's," Alfred laughs. "awesome. Really awesome."

Arthur blushes a bit. He had been prepared to defend his younger self, but Alfred actually seems impressed.

They stare at each other, until Alfred laughs again. "I wish I knew you when you were younger."

"Why?" Arthur says blankly, unable to comprehend why anybody would want to know him during that phase.

"Well, don't you?" Alfred demands, sprawling on his back.

"Don't I what?"

"Wish you knew me when I was younger? I've always been envious of people who've known each other forever. High school sweethearts or even farther back, like elementary school sweethearts. And when they grow up, they get married and they move into the same neighborhood they lived in when they were kids. It's just... romantic."

Arthur grunts noncommittally. "You seem to have thought about it."

Alfred shrugs. "Yeah, call me a sap. But hopefully, then, I won't waste time dating people I don't have a future with."

Arthur pretends to be interested in his suitcase zipper as he can feel Alfred staring at him.

"Well," Alfred continues after a minute. "Now you can give me an update on how everyone is doing. All your brothers will be there, right?"

Arthur nods.

"How many brothers do you have?"

"Three."

"All older?"

Arthur nods again.

"Damn," Alfred laughs. "Matthew and I are twins, so no competition there. Well, he was born first, but I think that's shit anyway." Alfred sticks out his tongue.

Arthur doesn't say anything, so Alfred keeps rambling on.

"Matthew's not a bad guy, though. He's in Ontario right now, studying environmental science. He's got a real thing for nature. He's one of those weirdos that just likes to walk in the woods for hours. Did you know when he lived in Canada with our grandparents he used to go looking for bears? They call me crazy, but Matthew's insane. I mean, imagine it: a ten-year-old boy, clutching is Hulk action figure, wandering around the woods with an Elmo flashlight from when we were five. Crazy!" Alfred ejaculates, waving his hands and getting Arthur to smile. "Absolutely crazy!"

"Your family sounds interesting." Arthur chuckles, tucking his last shirt into the suitcase.

"Eh," Alfred shrugs. "Matthew is anyway. What about you? With three older brothers, you'd have to have some ridiculous stories."

Arthur snorts. "I'm renowned for staying out of stupidity, actually."

"Oh, sure you are," Alfred grins teasingly. "You can't have been smart all your life, Arthur. You're bound to have given in at some point."

Arthur just shakes his head, leaning into to kiss Alfred gently on the lips. "No embarrassing stories today. I have to get to my exam."

Alfred pouts, but gets to his feet, offering Arthur his hand. "I'll see you afterwards, alright? Just text me when you're done."

They stand unusually close and everything is silent for the second. It doesn't feel like it's going to last, but Arthur takes the moment to feel nice. He looks at Alfred and thinks that, even if they're both rather horrible at communicating, he's incredibly happy things have turned out the way they have. Alfred, all sleep-deprived and bed-headed, loves to sleep nearly as much as he does. It means a lot to him that Alfred came. Feeling that he'll never quite be able to express himself, Arthur pushes himself on his toes to peck Alfred on the lips.

"You're entirely too thoughtful sometimes, you berk. I hope you catch cold walking campus in your pajamas."

Alfred snorts, pushing him away playfully.

Arthur hopes that Alfred understands. _Thank you._

_0 0 0_

Alfred cocks his head grinning. The Santa hat barely clings to his wily honey hair. His Christmas jumper radiates unnatural red, so that he sticks out painfully against the gray all around. He leans up against his Subaru, singing aloud to the blaring car radio.

"Cuz Santa Claus is coming to town..."

He seems utterly oblivious to the incredulous looks of the students, harrowed and dizzy from their final. He has eyes only for Arthur and they sparkle impossibly blue. Shelly begins to laugh, pushing Arthur down the stairs. He scowls back at her, slipping a little on the pavement. Next thing he breaks will be his neck with these antics. But Alfred's toothy grin is somewhat contagious. Arthur can only just hold his dignified scowl.

"Ready?" Alfred asks when he gets near enough.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "What are you trying to do? Get the whole school's attention?"

"Nope," Alfred smiles. "Just yours."

His cheeky grin brings a blush to Arthur's already weather-beaten cheeks. Before Alfred can see, he shoves around to the other side, grumbling about obnoxious attention seekers.

"Got you tea," Alfred says, jacking up the heater. "Not sure what kind though. Hopefully, it's alright. I took the girl's suggestion."

Arthur blinks in surprise, but carefully lifts the cup and sips. "Chamomile."

"Is it good?"

"Relaxing."

Alfred beams, "Awesome."

"They also had some fruit cups. She said they were really fresh. I got you one if you want it. I know you don't like heavy stuff." Alfred shrugs carelessly. He has a sack of McDonald's resting between his own legs and is unashamedly munching chips.

Arthur eyes the small fruit cup, finding himself oddly less apprehensive than he might have been. Alfred doesn't make a point of it, merely puts the car in drive and turns up the radio.

Arthur settles back against the worn fabric of the seat, letting his head drop back. He sips his tea in the silence. He's trying very hard not to dread the upcoming 14 hours of flight time. Since his mum unwittingly booked a broken flight, it's going to take longer with the layovers.

"You alright?" Alfred grins tiredly.

"Fine." Arthur just shakes his head.

"Do you think you'll be able to Skype me?" Alfred asks.

"I'll try." Arthur sighs into his tea. "There's a bit of a time zone difference."

"Eight hours, don't I know it." Alfred groans, but then smiles. "I don't care though. Whenever you message, I'll be on. It's going to be so boring in the apartment by myself. I was thinking of doing an advent calendar. I mean we're a bit late, but hey, I can send you pics every day."

"Wonderful." Arthur picks at the lid of the fruit cup, quietly. The rest of the ride is spent mostly in silence. He eats a couple blueberries and nibbles on a strawberry, unable to help watching Alfred for a reaction. There is none. If Alfred notices, he doesn't make a scene of it. Arthur's shoulders relax just a bit. The apples taste fairly nice with the soft bite of the Chamomile tea.

Huh. It's been awhile since he tasted his food, hasn't it?

Alfred is nearing the airport, having to brake more often at the onslaught of sudden traffic. Arthur wiggles his toes in his loafers, feeling the fabric of his fuzzy socks. The heater manages to work its way through his shoes to heat up his feet. He looks about the car for the first time, appreciating it for its undeniable Alfred-ness.

A pile of CDs totters by the gear shift, along with a myriad of gum wrappers and Happy Meal toys. The floor probably has never felt the mercy of a vacuum cleaner what with its assorted collection of crumbs. Arthur bends to pick up some Captain America sunglasses and a gay pride bandana, unable to help smiling softly. There's a receipt for a glow in the dark skeleton and a Ninja blender. One of Alfred's ancient looking trainers is shoved sloppily beneath his seat. Arthur finds a Key Lime Pie scented air freshener along with an old dog collar.

"Cleaning my car?" Alfred remarks in bemusement. "Geez, you never stop being so _Arthur, _do you?"

"I'm afraid not, you utter slob." Arthur sighs, dropping the items back on the floor. It reminds him uncannily of being taken to play at the toy shop. He used to pick up as many stuffed animals as possible, but when it was time to go, he had to leave them all back in their places. His older brother dragged him out impatiently by the hand, while he watched over his shoulder, hoping that they would miss him as much as he missed them.

"Welp. We're here." Alfred announces, parking the car in a fifteen minute slot. "Come on, I'll help you with your bag."

They bluster their way through the cold and the sizable crowds. Many people are heading home for Christmas. Once they enter, Arthur peers around for the correct kiosk to procure his ticket. Alfred pops out the handle of the wheeling suitcase, pressing it into Arthur's palm.

"I'll see you sooner than you think." He promises, pulling Arthur to the side and out of the way.

"I doubt that," Arthur can't help saying. He's somewhat surprised by how badly he doesn't want to go. Even that special feeling- seeing Trafalgar Square and walking along the Thames after a long time away- fails to excite him like it used to. Instead, he misses Alfred's larger bed and ripped up furniture. Hell, he even misses Alfred's bathroom rug if that means anything.

Alfred just kisses him fondly, scrubbing a hand through his wind-blown hair. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were turning into a real American."

"Bollocks." Arthur says with a rueful smile that gets Alfred laughing.

They kiss again. Alfred makes him promise to Skype. And then he leaves.

And Arthur is alone.

He gathers himself with a deep sigh and trudges forward to get his ticket.

0 0 0

The flight is uneventful and monotonous. Arthur makes use of the earplugs Alfred got for him, as well as the books. Which, surprisingly, aren't as bad as he feared. He actually finds himself laughing. The first in the series is so very Alfred that he instantly likes it. He decides that he'll have to come up with a list of criticisms so that Alfred doesn't figure that out though.

This occupies him for quite some time. Notebook in hand, he jams on the hero for being entirely too invincible and the love interest for being flatter than a pancake. Yet, the story still holds Arthur's attention for its marvelous sense of impossible adventure. He makes a mental note to recommend some books for Alfred now that he knows Alfred's style (and that Alfred actually reads). He eventually heeds the irritated glares of his fellow passengers and flips off the reading light. It is late, whatever the hell time it is.

He holds the neck pillow against his chest rather than behind his head, having found that Alfred's cologne lingers on the fabric. Arthur blushes in the dark at his own ridiculous thoughts, but it does help to ease the pain in his chest somewhat with his nose smashed unflatteringly against the goofy cat pattern.

When the last flight lands, Arthur's sense of time has entirely left him. Outside, the day is shiny and bright and high noon. The air is English, if that even makes sense, and everything feels remarkably like home. Yet, it's hard to be excited. He left his equilibrium somewhere back in the States. All he wants to do is lie down and sleep forever. As he passes the flight attendant, he drops his uneaten packs of peanuts in her bin bag, shaking himself.

The bustling, booming branch of Heathrow greets him and he finds it somewhat odd to hear accents like his own after being so long away. Rounding the corner, he spots some familiar faces. The sandy blonde head of his young cousin Peter, swinging off the arm of his least favorite aunt. His oldest brother, Murtagh, keeping an eye on the third oldest, James, who though nearly 26 still has the tendency to get lost. Murtagh's wife is holding their son, who Arthur will be meeting for the first time.

It's his own mum that greets him with strangling enthusiasm. "Oh, teddy bear! It's so good to see you. I had been so worried that you were going to slip out on us again. And we haven't seen you since July." She grabs his face and kisses his cheek, brushing at his fringe. "Oh, that's getting much too long. You need a haircut. We can take you later when we go shopping."

Arthur rubs her back, in a longsuffering way that gets James snickering. "I missed you, too." He says somewhat ironically, wondering if he has enough time to flash James the birdie before their mum sees.

"Come on, Mum," Murtagh interjects. "I'm sure Arthur'd like to get back and relax for awhile. It's a long flight. You can take him dress shopping later."

James snickers again, coming by to punch Arthur playfully in the side. "She's just so glad to have her teddy bear back."

Arthur merely sighs. Sometimes, being the youngest really does have its drawbacks.

He follows his boisterous family out the door and it seems like everyone is trying to tell him something. Peter raves about his new goldfish. Peter's mother manages to get in a question or two about Arthur's sex life. (Brilliant dinner conversation fodder, really). James is singularly interested in whether peanut butter is really a burger topping. And his mum just never stops.

Arthur tries to take it in stride. But when his one syllable answers fail to ward them off, he starts to get frustrated. Then, his mum falls to the topic of lunch. Everyone is agreeable with splurging a little. It's the holidays after all. Arthur has come home and soon Henry will arrive from Pondicherry.

("He's doing a study on old colonies there, Arthur! That's just the sort of thing you'd enjoy.")

Arthur gives her a listless nod, trying to come up with a way to skip lunch and just head home. When Murtagh's boy starts to cry, he nearly laughs with relief.

"I can help her find the way back," he volunteers for Murtagh, who's anxious about his wife wandering by herself in such a big city. Arthur would also bet that Murtagh still has to pick up his Christmas presents and is looking for just the moment.

"Alright, Arthur," Murtagh runs a hand through his messy, red curls. "You know the way. He'll show you there, Jewels."

She offers Arthur a grateful smile as she wrestles to keep hold of the rambunctious baby. His wild red hair and thick eyebrows make him undeniably a Kirkland boy.

"But Arthur," His mum begins. "When will you eat? You must be starving."

"Actually mum, I'm just sleepy." He forces a tired smile and prays to whatever exists that she'll let him leave. Her green eyes narrow suspiciously. Call it mother's intuition. She starts to make another objection, but this time it's his aunt that interrupts.

"Oh, let him leave, Mary. He can take Peter and Jewels back with him. We both still have a little shopping to do, and it would be much easier without the children."

Arthur gets the uncanny feeling that she's grouping him with 'the children'.

His mum sighs. "Oh, alright. Make sure you get something at home, Arthur," she nags and he rolls his eyes.

"Come along, Peter." He holds out his hand and Peter swings from his aunt's to Arthur's, howling like an ape man.

"Are we gunna go to the toy shop, Bear?"

"My name is Arthur," Arthur grumbles, cursing the bleeding nickname to hell and back.

Peter pays him no mind as he leads the way to the tube. "But are we?"

"Not today."

"Not ever?"

"Not if you keep bothering me." Arthur snarls, mumbling an apology as he almost trips an elderly man with his luggage.

Murtagh's wife, Jewels, laughs a little. Her blue-eyed baby peers at him over her shoulder. His odd gaze reminds Arthur of another wide-eyed, blue-eyed goofball.

"What's his name?" Arthur asks as they board the tube.

"Daniel." She smiles proudly, bouncing him a bit. "Looks like he's excited to meet his uncle."

Arthur wrinkles his nose at being called uncle, causing her to laugh again. He leans his head back against the window, thankful that the ride will take awhile to get them to their destination. It's a bit overwhelming, being dunked in the family setting again. Back where he's little teddy bear, and an oddity, and the gay, literate one. These are the people that changed his diaper and watched him learn how to swim. Yet, sometimes he feels like they don't know him at all. His new life in Seattle, his friends there, his classes, his struggles, his... boyfriend. It's always disconcerting to return to this side of reality, where his mother still hovers and he still feels that odd need to earn his father's respect.

They get off the tube after a good twenty minutes. It's a short walk down the pavement before they reach Arthur's old neighborhood. His parents haven't moved since that first time when he was fifteen.

The silent houses twinkle regally with expensive fairy lights and metalwork snowflakes. The hedges, though colorless this time of year, are neatly trimmed. Arthur knows the gardens in the back of each little property to be immaculate.

A man walks a well-groomed, pure bred down the street. His bright watch catches Arthur's eye, as well as the brilliant band of his expensive wedding ring. Peter, dressed neatly in his little Nordstrom peacoat, fits in without trying.

Indeed... what a scandal it had been when he first came home with green hair...

"Hurry up, Arthur," Peter tugs him down the pavement impatiently.

But Arthur doesn't go much faster, feeling lost in a sudden sea of memories. Last summer, he had stayed away from his parents' house out in a little flat in Bristol. He really hasn't been back for some time.

Jewels knows where she's going, hurrying towards the door three houses down. She hushes her baby, promising of warmth with gentle kisses. Peter's hand slips from Arthur's and he bounds forward as well. He taps the gilded Kirkland lion on the gate for good luck before pushing it open for her with a charming smile.

The great oak door groans on its hinges to greet them. Arthur's father stands in the doorway. The patriarch, Arthur thinks wryly. Just inside, he spots Peter's father, the original owner of the shop chain that had made them all rich.

"Well, hurry in, hurry in," His father commands Jewels in a rich voice. Peter bounces behind her, eager to get where it's warm. But Arthur only stands with his hand on the lion at the gate. The splint on his finger keeps him from feeling the odd point of its ears.

His father raises those thick eyebrows at him and says, "Well, are you coming, boy?"

Arthur nods mutely. He struggles lifting his luggage up the stairs, before he feels his father's rough hands clasp over his. The solid bulk of his father's chest as he takes it away is hard against Arthur's shoulder. It's as if he's suddenly thrown back in time when he meets his father's drooping brown eyes. Back to failed football tryouts and last place tourneys.

They both can't say anything for the moment. His father clears his throat. "They obviously haven't taught you anything in school, boy. Don't you know to come inside when it's bloody cold?" He yanks the bag from Arthur and starts up the steps.

As Arthur follows into the entryway, he sees the Christmas decorations are hung up as he remembers them. Everything matches perfectly. The gold and silver color scheme melts from room to room. Little gold and silver baubles swing merrily on the tree, and beneath it the dog snoozes wearily, having long since given up on getting rid of the horrid Christmas bow in her fur. He wonders when his mum had hired the lady to come in and decorate. They haven't actually decorated since they lived in Whitby. (Homemade ornaments and popcorn strings. And nothing ever matched.)

"You see, Bear's going to take me to the toy shop later this evening," Peter is saying sneakily from his spot in his father's lap.

"Oh well, now, isn't that nice of him?" His uncle laughs richly. His own brown eyes twinkle with bemusement. "It is good to have our Bear back with us, isn't it, Ralph?"

"Certainly." His father answers, taking his tea back on the couch. "Say, Arthur, stand still. Let me have a look at you."

Arthur meets his father's gaze impassively. He's noticed there's a picture of 14-year-old him in his football gear on the fireplace mantle. If he looks close enough, he can imagine he sees the bruise that James gave him, kicking the ball straight at his stomach.

...

"_Keep up, Arthur! You're bloody slow!"_

_ Arthur pants along, trying to keep pace with his 17 year old brother. _

_ James, who will one day go on to play pro, dribbles lazily in front of him, looking bored. "Father's right. You need to tighten up your core." He slows to a stop. "Come here."_

_ Arthur scowls, dragging his feet. "I have homework. The match isn't until next week. Can't I.. can't I rest?" _

_ "Hey, that's on Dad, not me." James holds up his hands defensively. "He told me to practice with you. Personally, I don't think you're cut out for football at all. You're short, but you're not very quick on your feet. How much do you weigh?"_

_ "I don't know." Arthur rolls his eyes. "I don't care either. Look, can we just get this over with? I'll go play keeper for awhile."_

_ James sighs. "No, I want you to practice passes. I'll go a ways out and kick it high. Use anything you can to pass it back. Just don't use your hands."_

_ Arthur grumbles a bit as James jogs down the field. He's been playing football since he was seven. Of course, he's not going to use his hands. _

_ "Ready?" James hollers._

_ Arthur nods. But apparently not. James kicks just high enough that he can't hit with his head and just low enough that he can't bump it with his foot. He's not coordinated enough to turn sideways in time for it to hit his hip. He ought to have just caught it, but he's certainly not going to face that embarrassment at the dinner table- James telling Father that wittle Arthur used his hands at practice today._

_ The football slams into his stomach, knocking his favorite after school snack right onto his cleats. _

...

Arthur zones back in, blinking. His father is talking about him.

"...a ruddy shame, I tell you, Martin. He's gone awful peaky, looks thinner than a whistle. We send him to America and he doesn't do a thing with it. Comes back with just as empty a head as before." His father laughs.

"Now, Ralph, don't be so cruel to him." His kinder uncle waves it off. "Arthur will find his way like the rest of them. James may play professional football, and Henry does research for Oxford. But we can't all be incredible in the same way, can we? Arthur, you'll impress him yet, greedy bastard that he is. Four sons, why I've only got my one and he's good enough!" His uncle swoops in to kiss Peter before he can pull away.

"Oh, Papa, no!"

"Well, Arthur, you could have at least bulked up like I told you, now couldn't you?" His father squints at him dismally. "I was scrawny like you were, too, so don't think that's stopping you. I worked real hard when I was twenty or so and then I could dead lift 300 pounds."

Arthur sighs. "I have no need to be a weightlifter, father. You're never on Henry about it."

"Well, Henry isn't so small as you are. Goodness sakes, Arthur, you couldn't even lift your own luggage."

Arthur scowls, rubbing at his sore arms. It'd been enough hassle dragging it around all day. "I'm going to my room."

"Oh, Arthur, we gave it to Jewels and the baby, so she would have somewhere to nurse him."

Arthur stares incredulously, feeling his patience begin to fray. "Murtagh has a room. I don't see why you couldn't bloody well use his."

"She wanted a separate room for the baby."

"Well, where am I staying?" Arthur snaps. "I didn't even want to come, father. Why did you make me if you had no room for me?"

The last sentence seems to echo in the high-ceilinged room, so that it takes on more significance than Arthur meant for it to. His father says nothing, only looks on expressionlessly. It's like all he can see, even now, are the homemade piercings and the chipped attitude. Arthur grabs his bag and storms off to steal Henry's room.

Sinking onto Henry's dusty bed, he sprawls staring at the ceiling. Downstairs, he can hear his father's muffled conversation, deep and dull. If his mother had been there, perhaps things would have been less volatile. He hears Peter's suddenly high-pitched voice inquire, "Why can't I go upstairs? Bear and I usually play together."

"Afraid not this year," Arthur mumbles to nobody in particular.

A photo of Henry's gorgeous girlfriend on the bedside table catches his eye. Arthur wrestles with his coat for a moment, producing his mobile. He flips through his limited pictures until he finds it and sighs. Alfred's upside down face smiles back at him, head thrown backwards over the bed. He'd wanted to try that Spiderman kiss.

"You poor idiot..." Arthur mumbles, allowing himself to smile.

He doesn't hate his family. His brothers are, well, his brothers. Peter can be sweet when the mood suits him. His uncle loves him. His aunt hates him. He's his mum's teddy bear. But his father... Arthur doesn't pretend to have any stock in that relationship.

* * *

><p><strong>Alright so ending author's note this time. :) <strong>

**First off, I want to assure everyone that Alfred has not be any means exited the story. Don't be worried for that. Haha, it's still UsUk**

**Second, Arthur's nickname, Bear. Is literally what his name means. I thought it was cute... **

**Lastly, it's not super important what everyone's name is. But for reference, Murtagh= Scotland, Henry= Wales, and James= Northern Ireland. Murtagh is married to Jewels and they have a son, Daniel. Arthur's parents are Ralph and Mary. His uncle (Peter's father) is Martin. **

**Once again not super important as this is a relatively minor part of the story. I throw in a bunch of names to create the craziness and realism of returning back home. **

**Thanks for your support, doze.**


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